RECOLLECTIONS 
GRAVE AND GAY 



BY 
MRS. BURTON HARRISON 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
1912 






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Copyright, 1911, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

Published October, 1911 

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TO 

THE BELOVED MEMORY OF 

MY BROTHER 

WHO AFTER LONG SUFFERING, GALLANTLY ENDURED, 

PASSED INTO REST AS THESE PAGES WERE 

GOING THROUGH THE PRESS 



Sea Urchins, Bar Harbor 
September , igi i 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 



CHAPTER I 

MY father was Archibald Cary, of Carysbrooke 
— all old-time Virginians loved to write them- 
selves down as part of their parental estates — 
son of Wilson Jefferson Cary, a nephew of Thomas 
Jefferson, whose marriage with Miss Virginia Randolph 
had taken place at Monticello; upon which occasion 
the bride was given away by the master of the house, 
who hung around her neck a little pearl necklace sent 
for by him to Paris, and still treasured by her descend- 
ants. There remains also a copy of "Don Quixote" 
in French, lovingly inscribed by Mr. Jefferson to my 
grandmother. 

Jeff"erson's mother, it will be recalled, was Jane, 
daughter of Isham Randolph; and when, in 1790, Mar- 
tha Jefferson married Thomas Mann Randolph, she 
and her husband claimed a great-great-grandfather in 
common. Young Randolph having lived with the Jef- 
fersons for two years in Paris, completing his education 
under Mr. Jefferson's direction at the University of 
Edinburgh, was entirely at home in the household of 
his future wife; so much so, that after their marriage he 
brought into it his little sister, Virginia, whose wit and 
charm, w^ith her gift of making sweet music, appealed 
to Mr. Jefferson as strongly as did her motherless con- 
dition. Miss Randolph grew up under her sister-in- 
law's devoted care, and to Mr. Jefferson owed the in- 

3 



4 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

tellectual impetus he so well knew how to give to a girl's 
education. 

She was by him inspired with the love of letters 
and habit of authorship that marked her in later 
years, when Mrs. Cary's novels, essays, and poems 
enjoyed considerable vogue. My father always spoke 
to me admiringly of his good mother's literary achieve- 
ments, when, as a very little girl perched upon his knee, 
1 listened in charmed awe to the tales of a grandmamma 
who was a real live author, pubHshing every scrap of 
MS. as fast as she wrote it; and said by the critics 
to combine the style of Hannah More with a grace and 
humor all her own. When I tried to read her books it 
must be owned that I thought them rather too grave and 
sermon-like for human nature's daily food. Not until 
many years had gone over my head did I appreciate 
them at their rightful value. 

My father, an old-line Whig of the enthusiastic 
type, yet had great personal admiration for and loved 
to talk about his "Uncle Jefferson," the "Father of 
American Democracy." Certainly, he induced all of 
us, and our children after us, to look with apprecia- 
tion upon Jefferson's splendid originality of thought 
and fearless expression of opinion, still more upon 
the breadth of his interest in the whole human field 
of intellectual endeavor, which made him a pharos 
in his time. Mr. Henry Watterson has well expressed 
our united family opinion in saying that, after Wash- 
ington and Franklin, the one clear figure in the early 
history of American politics is Jefferson — "a perfect 
Doric column." 

My son, Congressman Francis Burton Harrison, is 
fortunate in possessing a fine Gilbert Stuart portrait 
of Jefferson. Strangely enough, there is a strong like- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 5 

ness in this, as in the St. Memin profiles of Jefferson, 
to various members of the family in the present gen- 
erations. 

A crackling (alas! time-dried) letter lying before me, 
addressed by my father to his sister, Mrs. Gouverneur 
Morris, of Morrisania, "Harlaem, New York," an- 
nounces the arrival in this world of his daughter Con- 
stance, stating that "although she has red hair, he 
hopes if nothing happens she will not be a homely girl; 
of this, however, nothing can be said with certainty. 
The upper part of her head is very much like our 
mother's, so that "should she live, I anticipate for her 
some of her grandmother's talent for writing, particu- 
larly as I have great confidence in phrenology." This 
1 insert more as a contribution to the annals of the 
science of bumps than with confidence in its interest to 
the public. 

The Carys of my father's line had been scholars, 
leaders, and land-owners in the Virginia colony since 
1640, and before that were well known in south-western 
Britain. 

The head of the house is Byron Plantagenet, Vis- 
count Falkland, a worthy inheritor of the family title 
of the great Lucius Cary, Viscount Falkland, who died 
on the field at Newberry for England's glory and his 
own. Of late years it has been a pleasure to me to meet 
in my recurrent visits to London the family of the pres- 
ent viscount, and to be welcomed into their hospitable 
home, filled with portraits and relics, some of which are 
duplicated in our transatlantic dwellings. 

Lord Falkland, whose wife was Miss Mary Reade, of 
New York, has a household of handsome sons and 
daughters, his eldest son, possessing the picturesque 
title of .the. Master of Falkland. ...... 



6 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Of the Carys of Virginia, a noteworthy one was 
Colonel Archibald Cary, of Ampthill, near Richmond, 
on the James, known as ''Old Iron" in the Ameri- 
can Revolution. He married a Miss Randolph of 
the Curls branch of that numerous family. Through 
these Curls Randolphs we have received a dash of 
Pocahontas blood, and I have found no reason to de- 
cry this attenuated strain of descent from the long- 
gone little Indian princess whose high fidelity and noble 
unselfishness made its indelible mark upon colonial 
history. 

It must be owned we were brought up to think of 
our Randolph blood as a slightly menacing inheri- 
tance. "They w^ere clever, every man and woman of 
them," said a family oracle, "often brilliant, success- 
ful, fascinating — but, beware, my dear, of eccentricity! 
Look at your cousin, John of Roanoke! He began 
by being one of the most beautiful and innocent look- 
ing lads the world ever beheld, as anyone can see 
from that picture of him in boyhood, painted by Gil- 
bert Stuart; and look what a miserable life he led," 
etc., etc. 

We did not trouble our heads much about the trans- 
mission of physical tendencies by descent in those 
days, and found the strange stories of our morbid 
kinsman very much to our taste. As leader of the 
Jefferson party in Congress at twenty-eight, also chair- 
man of the Committee of Ways and Means, we felt 
very proud of him. 

We were to hear of Randolph of Roanoke in more sub- 
stantial fashion just before the war began. His estate, 
devolving upon his insane brother, St. George, who had 
lived in retirement all these years, was finally divided be- 
tween Randolph heirs at large, among whom my brother 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 7 

and myself were numbered. We received, to my great 
satisfaction, several "plums" in the way of executor's 
checks, a condition pleasingly continuing until after I 
was married and living in New York, and then the 
fountain ceased to flow. Various members of the family 
put these odd fragments of Randolph inheritance into 
souvenir rings and silver tea-sets, to be handed down 
in memoriam of the unhappy genius, the shooting-star 
of the Randolph galaxy. 

My father was at the time of his death just entering 
upon his fortieth year (a period traditionally dreaded by 
Cary men as likely to cut short their mortal span), liv- 
ing in the beautiful mountain town of Cumberland, in 
Maryland, where he was editor of its leading newspaper, 
The Cumberland Civilian. Bred in the practice of lit- 
erary study, well equipped in history, a classic by de- 
scent from men educated at English universities, and 
owners of the best libraries in the State, he was also an 
ardent Whig politician, and has left printed pamphlets, 
speeches, and editorials breathing the fiery spirit of 
his creed. One of my earliest recollections was being 
taken as a very small child to a hotel in Cumberland to 
visit his idol, Henry Clay, then an aged man, who lifted 
me in his arms and kissed me, to my secret discom- 
fiture, as I thought him dreadfully old and ugly. A gen- 
tleman present remarked: "Little girl, you must never 
forget that you started in life with a kiss and a blessing 
from the immortal Henry Clay." 

Of that interview I ought to have retained a silver 
pencil-case, which I promptly lost. 

My father, when a young la\vyer of three-and-twenty, 
had married his cousin Monimia, youngest daughter 
of Thomas, ninth Lord Fairfax, Baron of Cameron 
in the Scottish peerage, who, residing quietly on his es- 



8 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

tates in Virginia, had never assumed his title except 
when going once to England to claim an inheri- 
tance. 

My grandparents sometimes took a house in Washing- 
ton for the season, and there my mother, making her 
debut at seventeen, had been admired and belauded in 
the society of the capital. Chapman, the artist, en- 
gaged to paint "The Baptism of Pocahontas" for the 
rotunda of the Capitol, asked leave to introduce her into 
his picture as one of the two Englishwomen, their heads 
wrapped in scarfs, who stand directly behind the kneel- 
ing Pocahontas. My mother, at this time, made 
friends with Mr. and Mrs. N. P. Willis, he greatly 
extolling her beauty and inviting her to accompany 
them to various festivities. She remembered going 
to see them one day in their sitting-room at a hotel, 
and finding the lion still at his breakfast, in a gorgeous 
dressing-gown and smoking-cap, like Thackeray's 
"Clarence Bulbul," with a page-boy kneeling before the 
fire at his feet, toasting each mouthful of bread as de- 
manded by his fastidious master, Willis declaring it was 
"the only way to make toast tolerable," to the amuse- 
ment of the little Virginia girl bred in simplicity by her 
austere sire. 

There is a story of tlie wedding-journey of this very 
young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Cary, when they 
travelled, as the custom was, to New York, stopping at 
some Broadway hotel, where, on the day of their arrival, 
the bridegroom went off alone to visit Trinity Church 
and church-yard. She was but eighteen, had never 
been so far from home before, and as lunch-time came 
and her husband did not, feared to go down to the big 
dining-room alone, because people "stared at her so." 
(The Rev. Dr. Philip Slaughter, a learned historian of 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 9 

Virginia, wrote to me once, "I have a vivid picture of 
your mother in my memory, when, as Burke said of the 
young Queen of France, 'She first arose above the 
horizon of womanhood, and shone Hke the morning 
star, full of life and splendor and beauty.' ") When the 
recreant returned, hours after, full of concern and lov- 
ing apology, his excuse was that he had been copying 
inscriptions on the tombstones in Trinity church-yard, 
and had no idea how the time flew. 

My antiquarian progenitor seems, indeed, to have re- 
sembled that learned lawyer of the fifteenth century, 
William Budaeus, who, upon his wedding-day, stole 
away from his bride for six hours to hold converse with 
the mighty dead through his books. 

Of the marriage of Archibald Cary and Monimia 
Fairfax, the fifth between these two families, were born 
three children, two sons, Falkland and Clarence, and 
myself. My brother Falkland, who died at sixteen, was 
one of those rare beings sent into the world to adumbrate 
perfection, then cut short in the flower of youth, to the 
bewilderment of mortals who cannot grasp the meaning 
of the Creator's scheme. As he lay after death, face 
and form were like one of the recumbent statues of sleep- 
ing Greeks in the galleries at Rome. All intellectual 
exercise was facile to him, languages ancient and mod- 
ern were acquired without effort, and his literary com- 
positions won the astonished comment of his teachers. 
Join to this an incomparably sweet temper and a great 
love of physical exercise, and his loss to his family 
may be understood. 

My brother Clarence and I have kept together through 
a long life of harmonious association, varied by much 
travel and experience of people and places; we look 
back pleasantly upon our life in Cumberland, in the 



lo RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

brown modern Gothic house in Decatur Street, with its 
tower and balconies (which must have seemed rather 
spectacular in the quiet old town) bought by our father 
for his little family. In the tower I kept a small regi- 
ment of dolls with whom I used to enact plays from a 
tattered old copy of Dick's "Shakespeare," reading all 
the parts myself. I was once near hating my good 
parents and a friend of theirs, who, unknown to me, 
had crept up the tower stairs to listen laughingly to 
one of these performances. In our nursery my brother 
and I made tents out of bedclothes, and told each 
other, successively, stories of original travel and ad- 
venture, we who had never voyaged anywhere save from 
"the blue bed to the brown." The boys once had a 
mock trial, condemned and hung over the battlements 
a doll of mine, whose fate nearly broke my heart; but 
I enjoyed it, nevertheless. My father, very indulgent 
to his only girl, used to delight me with endless stories. 
Particularly did I relish those of the French-Indian 
campaign in that very neighborhood and of young Col- 
onel Washington's return from the disastrous venture 
to Mount Vernon, where our mother's grandfather. 
Colonel William Fairfax of Belvoir, his son George the 
Tory (Washington's old comrade in surveying), and 
George's fascinating wife Sally, our father's great-aunt, 
had hastened to console the young Achilles sulking in 
his tent by kind notes and visits. 

I loved all the gossip about the Mount Vernon and 
Belvoir families, and felt as if they still lived in my day. 
Then there were Indian massacres of the most exciting 
sort, the scenes of occurrence in the mountain fastnesses 
around us; and often was I bid to travel over-sea, and 
hear about the mother-land and the people we sprang 
from there. But, affectionate to England, my father be- 



RFXOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY n 

lieved with all his heart in the ideal of our own republic 
and its institutions. He used to describe how its bor- 
ders would go on broadening till it compassed the whole 
mighty continent; and once pointed out to me suddenly, 
in the red glow of sunset, the splendid cleft in the Alle- 
ghanies through which a river and a railway ran, west- 
ward of the town. "That, my daughter, is the gate- 
way for the future greatness of our land," he said, so 
impressively that I looked to see some actual titanic 
form with trailing garments sweep outward through the 
gorge. 

My education was carried on at day-school, in the 
polite establishment for young ladies of a Miss Jane 
Kenah, where I must have done something, however 
inadequate, to win from her the copy of "The Lady of 
the Lake," in faded red and gold, which still haunts 
my book-shelves, " Presented to Constance Cary, as a 
reward for scholarship, by her loving teacher." I hon- 
estly do not now believe I deserved it in the least, for 
I did not enjoy that school, nor yet the lessons in Latin 
imposed upon me by my father, at the hands of the 
amiable and learned Rev. Hillhouse Buel, in his study 
at the rectory. I must have made them a misery to 
my instructor! And as to mathematics in general, I 
have always considered them an invention of the evil 
one! 

The Rev. Mr. Buel, a distinguished father in the 
church, was in my eyes chiefly an incarnation of the 
Spirit of Ritualism in which my darling mother took 
strange satisfaction. His beautiful church stood on a 
bold bluff over the river dividing the town; our house 
was at a good distance on the other side; and many a 
time, during Lent especially, I was haled from my 
warm bed in the gray dawn of a winter's morning, 



12 RECOLLFXIIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

dressed hastily without breakfast (my mother fasted 
on Fridays in Lent till after sunset), and made to 
accompany her on a brisk, chill walk to matins, cele- 
brated by the rector, in the almost empty church, for 
the benefit of a literal "two or three." Once, she, I, 
and the celebrant were the only persons present on a 
stormy morning. On Sundays our family filled the 
first pew in the left transept, after a preceding hour 
of Sunday-school for the juveniles. When doctrine 
became too heavy for me I plaited the fringe of my 
mother's embroidered shawl of China crape, to me 
the most sumptuous of garments, which she would 
afterward find woven into as many little kinks as a 
darky's wool. 

The rule of our house was firm if loving. There was 
no weak yielding by either parent to our whims. Our 
pleasures were of a simple sort: long walks on the hills, 
flower-picking, skating in winter, and sledding over 
"jumps" on the snow-clad heights above our home; 
excursions to Flintstone, Frostburg, and the Mines; 
tea-parties witb our little friends and, at rare inter- 
vals, a show at some town-hall, into which we 
walked proudly with free tickets as children of the edi- 
tor, I think we heard Mme. Anna Bishop sing. My 
brother's sled bore her name in crimson letters. 

There was a grand triple entertainment for grown 
people, given by my mother and her neighbors, Mrs. 
Thruston and Mrs. Davidson, living diagonally op- 
posite us on Decatur Street. The invitations, printed 
in silver at the office of The Civilian, bid their friends 
repair to Mrs. Thruston, who lived in a wide, handsome 
old house in a terraced garden, at eight o'clock, for the 
reception; to Mrs. Gary, who possessed a large draw- 
ing-room and veranda, at nine, for dancing; and to 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 13 

Mrs. Davidson (whose husband was a brother of the 
poetesses Lucretia and Margaret Davidson), for supper, 
at eleven. Allowed to sit up for this unprecedented fes- 
tivity, I recall the guests assembling duly in Mrs. Thrus- 
ton's stately rooms, to sip Madeira and lemonade and 
taste her excellent plum-cake; then coming in a varie- 
gated string across the street to our big dancing-room, 
decorated with evergreen and flowers, with a band in 
my father's study. Proud as I was of our place in the 
programme, prouder still I felt at the spectacle of my 
lovely young mother in "white swiss," with bunches of 
scarlet geraniums in her curls and at her breast; wear- 
ing her pearls, my father's wedding-gift; with flushed 
cheeks and laughing eyes and lips, leading "down the 
middle," with Mr, Philip Roman, in a Virginia reel! 
The supper at Mrs. Davidson's was, to my eyes, some- 
thing too great and wonderful to be believed in. We 
and the Davidson children disgraced ourselves surrep- 
titiously by eating impossible things, and when caught 
we were sent home with a swift rush and told to go 
straight to bed, arising next day none the worse for our 
indulgence. Since then, banquets in many lands have 
been set before us, but none could equal this! Lord 
Lytton, in his later days, said: "It's a long time since 
I've been hungry, but, thank God, I am still greedy'* 
— a consolation in a very modest way. 

One of the practices of Cumberland was for the male 
head of the house to go to market betimes in the morn- 
ing, accompanied by a servant carrying a basket into 
which purchases were put. One of my keenest pleas- 
ures was when, at intervals, I was allowed to go there 
with my father. The dim spaces in the long building 
lit by swinging oil lanterns; the smiling, wheedling 
black faces behind piles of vegetables, meats, fowls. 



14 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

fruit, and eggs; the joy of nibbling radishes, of Hck- 
ing honey that oozed out of its receptacle, of receiv- 
ing gifts of horse-cakes from friendly merchants, of 
struggling through the busy crowd at my father's coat- 
tails; I tried religiously not to prefer it to matins, but 
failed. 

A vivid memory of my father is of an occasion when 
my busy mother, going off for one of her rare holiday 
jaunts to Berkeley Springs, and leaving her children 
and their nurse in his care, I awoke in the night crying 
for her and would not be consoled. No one heard me, 
no one answered, and I sprang out of bed and ran bare- 
footed down the stairs. There, in the little study where 
he was accustomed to sit half the night (in an arm- 
chair I still possess), and make clippings from exchange 
journals for The Civilian^ I beheld the editor buried in 
reading, snowed in with newspapers! At my timid 
note of alarm he looked up, frowned a little, then smiled 
tenderly, and, bounding up the steps, caught me in his 
arms, pressed me to his breast, carried me down to his 
den, and after a brief, delicious time of cosseting and 
soothing, carried me back to bed, and stayed by me, 
tender as any mother, till I slept! 

With his death, our Cumberland home was broken 
up forever. My mother, with her three young chil- 
dren, was reclaimed by her own mother, who took 
the long journey from Alexandria to Cumberland to 
fetch us. It did not seem a hardship to go to live with 
dear Grandmamma Fairfax — sweetest and gentlest of 
mortals! 

Once, in an outburst of infant rebellion against 
powers that were, I had conceived the idea of run- 
ning away from Cumberland to take refuge with her. 
1 had been told the canal passing through our town 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 15 

ran straight to her neighborhood, so I packed a pre- 
posterous Httle bundle, containing, among other nec- 
essaries, a tooth-brush, a prayer-book, and some lumps 
of sugar, and set out to walk down to the towing- 
path. A servant of ours, whom I always resented 
tor the interruption to my very first adventure, espied, 
pursued, and captured me long before I reached the 
initial stage of my journey — the first lock of the 
canal. 

Grandmamma was now a widow — the cold, stately old 
patriarch with silver locks and eyes of steely blue, whom 
I dimly recalled in earliest infancy, having gone to 
sleep with his grandfathers on the slope of a Virginian 
hill-side. He had been a wealthy man, as Virginian 
fortunes went, and to each of his sons — Albert, the 
eldest, grandfather of the present twelfth lord; Henry, 
of Ashgrove, a captain in the United States Vol- 
unteers, who died of exhaustion in marching through 
burning sun beside his soldiers in the war in Mexico, 
to encourage them; Orlando, the "beloved physician" 
of Alexandria and Richmond; and Reginald, then a 
lieutenant in the United States navy — he had given an 
estate, or its equivalent in money. 

Vaucluse, the place in Fairfax County near the The- 
ological Seminary of Virginia, had been left to the widow 
during her lifetime, to her son Reginald after her. And 
at Vaucluse our composite family lived until it was de- 
stroyed by the war between the States. When the dear 
chatelaine breathed her last there, our sailor uncle de- 
clared that everything must be kept as it was, to be a 
happy port for him at the end of his voyages. I was 
very much overawed by the continual remembrance of 
my dead grandpapa when first we reached Vaucluse. 
I did not dare tell any one how I was possessed by 



i6 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

an image of him when I was three years old (seen 
through an accidentally opened door, lying in bed in the 
Long Room in the wing, whether ill or merely asleep 
I have no idea), but the picture of that stern ivory pro- 
file against the pillow, and the long locks like spun glass 
beside it, haunted me for years with shuddering. There 
was a flight of stairs leading past his door to my mother's 
room, up which I used to fly with fast-beating heart 
after nightfall. Also, I dreaded a long clock-case stand- 
ing at the foot, which I associated with a story in a 
chapbook, told me by my nurse, about a corpse set on 
end in one of them. 

My brother tells me there was a tale among the ser- 
vants at Vaucluse, that my grandfather, once looking in 
his mirror in the Long Room, saw over his shoulder a 
negro woman standing, who gazed into his face appeal- 
ingly. Recognizing her as a servant who had been sent 
away to Ashgrove, he turned to ask when she had come 
back and what she was doing there, and found — nobody! 
Two days later they heard that she had died at Ash- 
grove at that same hour. 

Grandpapa Fairfax was a devout Swedenborgian 
and had his children baptized in that faith, some of 
them subsequently being rechristened in the Epis- 
copal Church, by their own desire. It was said in 
Virginia that in early days he had covers laid at table 
for the departed members of his family, but for this I 
cannot vouch. In my time, every place at meals was 
filled by a very hungry set of material beings. In 
actual fact, the old gentleman was not so alarming as 
reputed. 

Thomas, ninth Lord Fairfax, although singularly re- 
served in habit, was a vigorous personality. Son of the 
Hon. and Rev.. Brian Fairfax (eighth lord. and. rector 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 17 

of old Christ Church in Alexandria, and Hfe-long friend 
of Washington) and of EHzabeth Cary, of Ceelys, on 
the James, he had in boyhood made a journey to Eng- 
land with his Tory father in 1777, in order to make good 
before the House of Lords the claim of the latter to his 
title. In this then arduous expedition, made in raw 
winter weather, the father and son were assisted to pass 
through the lines of the American army by personal 
order of General Washington, who also assumed care 
of the wife and children left behind on the Virginian 
plantation. A tattered diary and letter written by little 
Sally Fairfax, during this time, were published by me in 
Scribners Magazine for July, 1876, under the title of 
"A Little Centennial Lady." All that I could hear or 
glean about this quaint and charming little great-aunt 
was delightful to me, and a certain phrase in the letter 
to her sire in London, which he was to "receive owing 
to the Generall's interposition" has passed into family 
quotation. "My love to my brother Tommy, with the 
hope that he will preserve the polite assurance and affa- 
ble cheerfulness of a gentleman, yet not forgetting the 
incidents of Fairfax County." 

Of the diary I copy a few entries. Amid preparations 
for a Christmas dance at her father's house, Towlston, 
little housewife Sally writes: "On Thursday, mama 
made 6 mince pies and 7 custards, 12 tarts, i chicking 
pye and 4 pudings for the ball." 

"Miss Molly Page and Mr. Perce Baillie and Mr. 
William Page and Mr. William Sandford, Mr. Mody 
and Miss Jenny, a man who lives at Colchester, 
Mr. Hurst, Mrs. Hurst's husband, young Harry Gun- 
nell, son of old William Gunnell, John Seal from the 
little falls, Mr. Watts and Mr. Hunter, (etc, etc, etc) 
these are all the gentlemen and ladies that were at the 



i8 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

ball. Mrs. Gunnell brought her sucking child with 
her." 

"On Monday night, when papa was at Mount Ver- 
non my aunt Fairfax" [Mrs. George William Fairfax, 
born Cary] "sent my muslin apron to him which she 
gave me when I was at Belvoir, but I did not bring 
it home with me, so she made Miss Polly work it for 
me, and in it she sent me a note, the apron is mighty 
pritty." 

"On Friday the 3rd, of Janna, came jon vane to 
undertake the building of the henhouse he got no 
incouragement so he went away the same way he 
came. 

"On Friday the 3 of Jan came here granny Carty, she 
cut me out a short gown, and stayed all night." 

"On Friday the 3 of Jan, papa went to Collo Wash- 
ington's and came home again the next Wednesday 
which was the 8." 

" On Friday the 3 of Jan that vile man Adam at night 
kild a poor cat of rage because she eat a bit of meat out 
of his hand and scratched it. O vile reach of new 
negrows if he was mine I would cut him to pieces a son 
of a gun a vile negrow he should be kild himself by 
rites. 

"On Thursday the 2 of Jan Marjerry went to 
washing and brought all the things in ready done on 
the of the same month I think she was a great wile 
about them a whole week if you will believe me 
reader." 

"On Friday the 10 of Jannuary in the morning 
came here Danny Govens overseer for Taff, and Taff 
went away accordingly poor Taff I pitty him indeed, 
reader." 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 19 

"On Friday the 17 of Jan I mended Tommy's shirt 
from head to foot. S. F." 



"On Monday the 27 of Jan there fell an amazing 
snow two foot and a half deep, on Tuesday the 28 of 
Jan I craked a loaf of sugar, on Tuesday the 28, Adam 
cut down a cherry tree on Friday the 14 of Febberary, 
the red and white cow calved and had a red and white 
calf, 1772. S. Fairfax." 

We have, alas! no portrait of S. F. in the family gal- 
lery. My grandmother, Margaret Herbert, who after- 
ward became brother Tommy's wife, remembered pretty 
Sally, at seventeen, at the Carlyle house in Alexandria, 
dressed for a birthnight ball, to which General and 
Mrs. Washington were to take her. She was now en- 
gaged to "a young Mr. Washington," cousin or nephew 
of the general's, and on this occasion the great Washing- 
ton "devoted himself to her especially, leading off in a 
minuet with her, when they were the observed of all 
observers. Sally wore a dress of white net over white 
satin, the net trimmed with rose-colored satin leaves, a 
pink rose in her hair, with one white ostrich plume. It 
was the last ball she ever attended." So poor, bright, 
quaint little Sally, "the general's" pet of all her fam- 
ily, was cut off on her virgin stalk, dying before her 
wedding-day. 

We always heard that our grandpapa mourned for 
her to his long life's end. 

Later in life, Thomas, Lord Fairfax, again went 
abroad to take possession of an inheritance coming to 
him from his aunt, Mrs. George William Fairfax, of 
Bath, England, born Sally Cary, the famous belle of 



20 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Revolutionary times, around whom, with her two sis- 
ters, Mary, afterward Mrs. Ambler, and Elizabeth, wife 
of Brian Fairfax, cluster many a story, with variants, in 
the histories of the youthful Washington. She, with her 
Tory husband, finding life in the colony unendurable, 
had gone to live in England, passing on their voyage 
out the tea-laden ship that was to work havoc with king- 
craft in Boston harbor. Some of the silver now in daily 
use in my home, notably a pair of Corinthian column 
candlesticks with repousse bases, was part of their 
table furniture. A full service of it had originally been 
brought to the colony by Colonel William Fairfax, of 
Belvoir, had voyaged back with Mr. and Mrs. George 
William Fairfax, was again transported to Virginia by 
my grandfather, used for years at Vaucluse, lay buried 
under the ruins of Vaucluse during the four years of war, 
and finally, exhumed intact, was distributed among the 
Fairfax heirs. 

My grandmother, after the Southern custom, per- 
haps too often followed, was a cousin of her husband. 
As Margaret Herbert, of Alexandria, she had grown up 
in the old Carlyle house, with its heavy chimneys, 
dormer-windows, double balconies, and small-paned 
windows, now shown to tourists as the scene of Brad- 
dock's conference, in 1755, with the five governors of 
the colonies about the march to Fort Duquesne. The 
dwelling, in the temporary absence of the family, had 
been lent for the purpose by her grandfather, Major 
Carlyle, afterward quartermaster of the expedition, and 
his wife, Sarah Fairfax, of Belvoir. Traditions of this 
dwelling, coming to me from her, embody certain visits 
there "to dine and lie," of General and Mrs. Washing- 
ton on the occasion of birthnight balls at the City Ho- 
tel, describe the toilets and trains worn by the ladies, 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 21 

Sister Nancy's collision with Aaron Burr on the stair- 
way, when he put his hand on his heart with a bow and 
smile that (we youngsters thought) kept the lady for- 
ever unwed, and much of the same kind. The circum- 
stance that I perhaps approved of most was that grand- 
mamma was allowed to "come out" at fourteen! 



CHAPTER II 

OUR establishment at Vauduse now consisted of 
the dear and beneficent lady, its head, and her 
two widowed daughters with their children (six 
of the latter, off and on), together with an endless pro- 
cession, coming and going, of aunts and cousins, who 
stayed as long as they found it convenient and agreea- 
ble. Now, the "connection," as it was called, embraced 
a surprising number of people with the same blood in 
their veins, and habit had made it law that any one in- 
cluded in this brotherhood should be sacrosanct and 
free of all the house could offer as entailed upon hos- 
pitality. So the old white stucco dwelling, with its wings 
to right and left under the great oak trees of its lawns, 
went on stretching to receive guests, the stable took in 
their horses, the servants' building, a little way from the 
pantry wing, received their attendants, and nobody 
ventured to think anybody was ever inconvenienced! 

The two daughters of the house, my mother, and my 
aunt, Mrs. Hyde, took care between them of the house- 
keeping. Our servants were hired black people, good 
and faithful souls, but, thank Heaven! not slaves of 
ours. My grandfather Fairfax had been the first gen- 
tleman in Virginia to manumit his slaves, had each of 
them taught a trade, and the efficient ones sent to Li- 
beria at his expense. The latter part of his humani- 
tarian scheme was, needless to say, not a success, most of 
them writing imploring letters to "old marse" to take 
them back again. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 23 

There was no farm attached to the place, only gar- 
dens, a chicken-yard, orchard, and dairy, from which 
the table was supplied with country dainties. In the 
rooms were assembled the flotsam of family furnishings 
accumulated from other homes in England and Virginia, 
Towlston, Belvoir, and Ashgrove. We had on the walls 
a few interesting old Fairfax portraits: a "Percy, Earl 
of Northumberland," a "Parliamentary General," a 
Lady Fairfax with a busk, carrying a long feather in her 
hand, Roundheads and Cavaliers; and in the secretary 
many old parchments and a pedigree illuminated in Eliz- 
abethan days, with a land transfer of the date of Rich- 
ard Coeur de Lion. The drawing-room was large and 
bright, with many windows, all furnished and curtained 
in crimson damask. A large open grate held in winter 
a fire of logs and lumps of coal making a royal blaze; 
upon the mantle were girandoles and ostrich eggs, with 
some Dresden cups and saucers beautifully painted with 
wreaths of blossoms. In an alcove to one side were 
shelves of books, mostly old English volumes, salFron- 
hued and musty, that when opened were apt to send lit- 
tle queer bloodless insects scuttling out of them. There 
I sat (oftenest upon my foot) poring over the world of 
joy I got from this fragment of a library. When not 
thus employed, I was out-of-doors, scouring the woods, 
climbing trees, riding horses to water, wading streams, 
and picking wild flowers. Except for my cousin, Meta 
Hyde, younger than I, a big-eyed quaint creature whom 
her brothers teased and petted alternately, I was the only 
girl child at Vaucluse. Of the young men and boy cous- 
ins, passing in and out of the house, Vaucluse sent four- 
teen or fifteen to the war. They always seemed to me 
to illustrate what Colonel Lambert told Harry Warring- 
ton about the Persians. "They can ride and speak the 



24- RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

truth." The wonder is I was not spoiled utterly by 
their setting me on a pinnacle and doing all I asked, big 
or little, in or out of season. 

It was then decided by my mother that I could no 
longer roam and ride, or go shooting with the boys; so, 
after a long foreign correspondence, a French governess, 
Mademoiselle Adami, appeared upon the scene and was 
instructed to keep with me always in my walks abroad. 
Poor lady! It must be owned that she had her hands 
full, that I writhed under her mincing conventionali- 
ties of social doctrine, and that the boys played many 
a welcome trick on her, including the offering of per- 
simmons from a tree in the pasture upon which frost 
had not yet laid its redeeming spell. But she knew how 
to teach, and in school-hours I was interested, and 
learned to like reading in French, which I have kept up 
unremittingly all my life since. 

Washington, our chief shopping-place, eight miles 
distant, was usually attained from Vaucluse in the fam- 
ily coach drawn by two highly groomed chestnuts with 
long frizzled tails, in which we jogged over the Long 
Bridge to have our daguerreotypes taken at White- 
hurst's, to order bonnets of Miss Wilson, and to eat ices 
at Gautier's. To keep us children quiet on the drive, so 
that the elders could talk coherently, it was grandmam- 
ma's practice to smuggle into the carriage Scotch cakes, 
Everton toffee, and rosy apples. While we nibbled and 
munched (especially if the draw on the bridge were off 
and some slow-sailing Potomac craft were pursuing its 
dignified course down the tawny stream) they chatted, 
and oh! of what interesting things! Of the doings at 
Queen Victoria's court, which these British lined ladies 
dearly loved to discuss, of Washington social affairs and 
notabilities, of the dear bishop our neighbor and mat- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 25 

ters of the church in Virginia, of books read, and of 
events, ancient and modern, in families who somehow 
or other seemed always to be of kin to ours! As the 
war came on the talk grew more solemn. They none 
of them wanted secession, and were waiting to see what 
Colonel Robert Lee would do. Sometimes mademoi- 
selle was told off to conduct us upon improving visits 
to the dentist and various government buildings, es- 
pecially the Patent Office, while my mother and aunt 
made calls upon old friends. Sometimes we children, 
too, were taken to call upon long-suffering acquaint- 
ances. At the corner of I Street and Sixteenth stood 
a brick house, overgrown with ivy, around which was 
a pleasant old garden. Here lived a kinswoman, 
Mrs. Richard Cutts, and in residence with her was 
her mother, Mrs. Hackley, sister of my grandmother 
Cary. My obeisance accomplished to Aunt Hack- 
ley, I generally made all speed to the garden in com- 
pany with our little Cutts cousins, Gertrude (now 
Mrs. Moorfield Storey, of Boston) and her sister Lu- 
cia. My first glimpse of the radiant Adelaide Cutts, 
afterward Mrs. Stephen A. Douglas, was in this garden, 
and the vision smote my heart-strings with delight. 
And, strange to say, in part of the same garden was 
afterward built the house where I have now pitched my 
tent, "a day's march nearer home." 

My grandmother Fairfax had a daughter, Mrs. Ir- 
win, living in Washington with her husband and two 
children; so that we had always a pied a ierre for visits 
and stops-over to see special sights. To this kind aunt I 
owed many happinesses as I grew older, and from her 
house, years after, I went to my first ball in Washing- 
ton at the house of my present next-door neighbor — still 
living in the same spacious mansion, with its wide gar- 



26 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

den shadowed on my side by a noble maple, in which, in 
early spring, come to perch numberless migrating birds, 
including the cardinal grosbeak, who taps at my window- 
pane and flits through the branches, revealing his scarlet 
majesty before the leaves are out. 

Better even than our visits to the seat of government, 
I loved those to quiet, dreamy old Alexandria, where 
every one of the historic cobblestones of King Street 
(now mercifully broken up, and relaid under a couch of 
asphalt) had some family chronicle to tell me. Because 
I may not be able so well to express the spirit of the place 
as it then appealed to me, I venture to quote here the 
opening pages of a book of my short stories, called "Bel- 
haven Tales," chiefly published in the Century Maga- 
zine. Into that collection crept, without my knowing 
it, so much of autobiography that I have a kindly feel- 
ing even for its faults. 

"In the quiet, grass-grown town of Alexandria, first 
named Belhaven, situated upon the lower bank of the 
Potomac, in Virginia, might have been perceived, just 
before the outbreak of the war between the States, a 
faint flavor of early colonial days lingering like the scent 
of rose-leaves in an old-time China jar. 

"To begin with the streets — what a Tory smack in 
their names! — King, Prince, Duke, Royal, Queen, Prin- 
cess, Duchess. Odd enough in the neighborhood of 
Mount Vernon — nay, under the very shadows, as it 
were, of the great dome of the National Capitol! At 
the time referred to, enjoyment for the greater part of 
a century of the blessings of political enfranchisement 
had not deprived some Alexandrians of a certain rehsh 
for the affairs of the English court. They liked to read 
the Illustrated London News, and to obtain correct in- 
formation about the queen's walks with the youthful 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 27 

royalties and the queen's drives, attended by Ladies 
X, Y, and Z. Had they not been fed upon the traditions 
of an EngHsh ancestry, as upon the toothsome hams, the 
appetizing roe-herrings, of their famous market-place ? 
The Georgian era of tea-drinking and tambour, of span- 
gles and snuffboxes, of high play and hair-powder, repre- 
sented to them the Golden Age in the fortunes of their 
families of which every vestige must be guarded jeal- 
ously. As children they had stood on tiptoe to study the 
lineaments of Great-grandaunt Betty, hanging in the 
fly-specked frame somewhere near the ceiling, and had 
been eager to hear how she had been toasted at Mayfair 
supper-tables or had danced the gavotte at a Ranelagh 
ball. Yonder beetle-browed warrior in a voluminous 
wig was a general in Queen Anne's time, before he con- 
descended to his present station above the sideboard. 
The beautiful youth in armor, slender and graceful, with 
the fiery eyes, fought for King Charles against the 
Roundheads, never dreaming that he would come across 
the seas to find his niche in a staid Virginian sitting- 
room! In this wainscoted parlor, where the light comes 
through small, greenish panes of glass veiled with ivy 
branching from stems knit in a fibrous mass upon the 
outer wall, had great-grandmamma, dressed in her satin- 
paduasoy ('You may see a piece of it upon your aunt 
Prunella's pin-cushion, my dear!'), her hose with silver 
clocks, stood to receive General Braddock, on occasion 
of his first visit to the town." 

In walking through the streets of Alexandria to-day, 
one sees residences keeping up the traditions of pros- 
perous hospitality. Enclosed within high-walled gar- 
dens, where the Southern sun coaxes from mellow soil 
jasmines yellow and white, roses in prodigal variety, 
honeysuckle and other sweet-smelling things, the owners 



28 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

of these homes dwell year after year, unambitious of 
change, gazing contentedly from afar upon that "mi- 
crocosm on stilts, yclept the great world." It is the 
business quarter of the town that strikes most forcibly 
the visitor from one of the present centres of American 
commerce. From this old-time seat of Virginian cus- 
tom, the "fret and fever of speculation" have forever 
fled. In the line of warehouses along the wharves the 
quick "pulse of gain" has ce-ased to beat. The vessels 
lying at anchor must be haunted by ghostly crews; they 
give no sign of life. The steamboat that plies her way 
between Washington and Alexandria seems to approach 
the wharf cautiously, as if fearing to awake a slumberer. 
Even the fishing industry — for the beautiful river has 
not ceased to yield her tribute — appears to move but 
languidly. All this has its delightful aspect; and he 
who would view a lotus-eater in his paradise should 
watch an Alexandrian darky dangling his legs over the 
worn beams of the dock under pretence of fishing — 
listening to the lap of water against the green and shiny 
piles, and droning away the livelong afternoon until the 
level sun, which gleams fiery red upon the broken win- 
dows of the warehouse at his back, begins to stir in him 
vague thoughts of corn-pone browning on the cabin 
hearth at home. 

One winter of my early youth spent by us at the Man- 
sion House in King Street, Alexandria, I used to look 
out, across the way, at a large old brick mansion with 
closed window shutters wearing a melancholy air of 
decay. When I asked who lived there, I was told that 
little girls should not ask questions and I had better run 
away and play. One day I espied, descending the high 
steps, the oddest little figure carrying a pitcher in her 
hand. She was a tiny old lady dressed in an "umbrella" 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 29 

skirt, with white stockings and black kid shppers, a fan- 
tastic scarf around her shoulders, and, to crown all, a 
poke-bonnet covered with a sprigged black lace veil. 
Very quietly, with perfect dignity of demeanor, she 
tripped over to a pump in the neighborhood, filled her 
pitcher, and returned inside the dismal doorway. Even 
the street boys failed to jeer at her, and passers-by looked 
on respectfully. Then, to stay my eager curiosity, her 
story was told to me. She was a harmlessly mad kins- 
woman, who lived alone with her equally stricken sister 
in their old family home, the only survivors of a large 
household. For some time my grandmother had taken 
care of their needs, allowing them to remain in the 
home which they pitifully prayed to keep. Their hand- 
some father, son of an Irish family of ancient lineage 
who had come to Virginia, it was said, to make good 
his losses on the Curragh race-track at Kildare, was 
reputed to be under ban by the priests in his native land 
because of his offence against the church of pulling 
down a chapel on the estate and using the stones to 
build a banquet-hall! Arrived in the New World, he 
had at first prospered, married an heiress, and had many 
children. But in the course of years everything went 
wrong with him; debts and his dissipation wrecked his 
wife's fortune, every son born to them died by vio- 
lence or accident; finally, they two passed out of life, 
leaving these hapless daughters overpowered by their 
sorrows. One of the sons, with his little boy, died by 
accidental poisoning at the hands of the family doctor 
while on a visit to Mount Vernon, and they are both 
buried there; another, styled "Singing Billy" by the 
townspeople, having *'a voice like an angel heard above 
all others in Christ Church choir," was, with his brother, 
swept off by a sudden pestilence of cholera in the 



30 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

town. Still another was killed by lightning; and one, 
his exact fate foretold by his negro "mammy" in Alex- 
andria, perished at the hands of Indians on the Western 
plains. 

While I was away at boarding-school in Richmond 
came tidings that the two afflicted sisters had been 
finally removed to a sanitarium. The younger, to her 
life's end, wore around her neck a locket she would 
allow nobody to open, and it was buried with her. 
Those of her kindred who went through the forsaken 
house collecting their scattered belongings described 
a scene like a page from Dickens's "Great Expecta- 
tions" — laces, cashmeres, slippers, gowns, heaped in 
dusty corners, cobwebs everywhere. Thus was wTought 
out the priest's ban in Ireland, and so ended a hapless 
family. 

Our first place of rest in going to Alexandria was al- 
ways my uncle's old home in Cameron Street, called 
"the Fairfax House" on modern post-cards. A hun- 
dred associations cluster around that house, with its 
brick-walled garden and semicircular front steps. There 
my uncle and his wife exhaled the kindness and fra- 
grance of their truly Christian lives; there their son, 
the heroic young Randolph Fairfax, was born; there 
my brother Falkland died, a tragedy in my young life; 
and there I was one day to be, for the space of twenty- 
four hours, a prisoner of war. 

The house of the two old maiden ladies everybody in 
our connection called "my aunts" was another, but 
less popular, resort of our early youth. It had rather 
a grim exterior, we thought, an impression intensi- 
fied by our being bidden, before entering, to lay 
aside any flowers or sweet calycanthus shrubs we might 
happen to be carrying. It was in King Street, not far 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 31 

from the river, where, in old times, the lawns in that 
part of town went down to the water's edge, and the 
owners of ships could see their cargoes coming safe to 
port, with everything ordered in England, from silken 
paduasoys to a coach for driving "four." 

It used to be hard for me to picture my elder great- 
aunt as a "little pet" of family letters, on a visit to 
Madam Washington at Mount Vernon, learning from 
her to make a quilt, or perched on a taboret to sing "Ye 
Dahlian God" at General Washington's request. 

But she left that quilt to me, so I know the tale was 
true. She was rather an alarming old lady, we all 
thought. Her stern Roman profile resembled that of a 
warrior on a bas-relief, her hawk's eye seemed to be 
searching for juvenile depravity. At Vaucluse she 
would sometimes so alarm shy theological students who 
came to call that they hardly spoke at all during the visit. 

The other aunt was warm, generous, overflowing with 
the milk of human kindness, a walking encyclopaedia 
of Virginian genealogy. She would "comfort us with 
apples," alsogingercakes, and send us out into the back- 
yard to pick up the little pipes that fell from a great 
sycamore tree shading it. Sometimes she let us go up- 
stairs to visit a cousin who lived with them, who rarely 
went abroad on account of her unusual size. This was 
a very clever, pungent lady, whom we credited with hav- 
ing read all the books in the world, and who bred canary 
birds. 

After "my aunts" came to reside at Vaucluse with 
" Sister Peggy," I cannot think of its long, cheerful living- 
room without seeing on either side of the fireplace a 
large beaded mahogany arm-chair containing an ancient 
dame poring over books and newspapers, which they 
kept stuffed around their persons as they sat. They 



32 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

read, from morning until night, grave books, and all 
sorts and conditions of fiction, from Madame d'Arblay 
to George Eliot, when not talking about people who 
seemed to me coeval with the flood. 

At the outbreak of the war, when my mother and Mrs. 
Hyde elected to leave Vaucluse and go to the scene 
of fighting in order to be near their volunteer soldiers 
and serve as nurses if desired, "my aunts" declined to 
move elsewhere. They were not afraid of armies, nor 
indeed of anything but mice. They stayed till the place 
was taken as a United States camp, and when cour- 
teously informed by the officer in command that they 
must go into Alexandria, for which purpose the war- 
carriage, an ambulance, stood in waiting at the door, 
the older sister positively refused to move of her own 
accord; and there she sat defying them, fire in her 
glance, iron in her veins, till two soldiers between them 
lifted her, chair and all, and bore her forever from the 
chimney-corner of Vaucluse. 

The aged gentlewomen, finding refuge in the Cameron 
Street house, lived there during the remainder of the 
war. They will be kindly remembered by many Alex- 
andrians of the old regime, as by their numerous kin. 
The older lady, unconscious of her surroundings for 
some time before the end, would not rest without books 
and newspapers literally covering her in bed. She be- 
queathed to me an interesting mezzotint, now hanging 
in my library, of General Nathanael Greene, presented 
by Washington to her father, and the counterpane of 
transfer work made by her at Mount Vernon; one of the 
Italian cotton toiles de Genes, so familiar to tourists on 
the Riviera, cut out and "buttonholed" upon a heavier 
background, presenting to view a large tree with flowers 
fruit and birds, all at once upon its branches. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 33 

Our neighborhood was always deeply interested in 
what concerned the Lees, of Arlington, who lived in ele- 
gance and comfort not far away. Colonel Lee's splen- 
did, soldierly figure was a mark for general approval 
when, on his visits home, he rode into Alexandria to 
visit his old friends. What he said upon subjects of 
national and civic interest was apt to lead other opin- 
ions always. His wife, a daughter of Mr. George Wash- 
ington Parke Custis, "the old man eloquent," was of 
kin to us through her mother, a Randolph, and we knew 
all their boys and girls. I remember Mary Custis Lee, 
on horseback, accompanied by her little brother "Rob- 
bie," on his white pony Santa Anna, riding up on 
Sunday to service at the chapel of the Theological Sem- 
inary; two handsome and gallant figures they seemed to 
lookers-on. Mildred Lee was my dear friend, and dur- 
ing a tour we made together in the Dolomites, a few 
years before her death, we loved to conjure up old Ar- 
lington and Vaucluse reminiscences. In one of our 
walks near Cortina, she ventured into an enclosure 
where a couple of fierce dogs bounded out, barking, 
upon her; and I, from the road, beheld Mildred go for- 
ward to meet them without flinching, reducing both as- 
sailants to the condition of fawning upon her knees, she, 
absolutely calm, with no sign of the quickening of a pulse. 
The peasant who ran to her aid was astonished out of his 
wits; but he probably had never heard of General Lee, 
and was unaware of the transmission of hereditary traits. 

The Augustin Washingtons, of Mount Vernon, were 
rather too far away from Vaucluse for us to see much of 
them', for our Fairfax County roads were then, as now, 
not inviting to sociability except on horseback. I 
had a delightful visit at Mount Vernon in childhood, 
and after the place became the property of the Women 



34 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

of America, our cousin, Mr. Upton Herbert, an inti- 
mate friend of the late owner, was appointed to be 
resident superintendent. The most distinguished oc- 
casion I can remember at Mount Vernon was that 
of the visit of the Prince of Wales, the Duke of 
Newcastle, Sir Henry Holland, Lord Lyons, and 
others, with President Buchanan and his beautiful 
niece, Miss Harriet Lane, who came down by water 
and roamed freely about the old house and grounds. 
I had the glory of standing by a box hedge in the gar- 
den and presenting to his royal highness a basket 
of flowers picked from bushes traditionally said to 
have been planted by Mrs. Washington. Of this event 
I chiefly remember the young prince's charming manner 
in receiving the token, at once consigned to one of his 
followers to carry, and my own desperate anxiety lest 
my leghorn "flat," crowned with a wreath of feather 
flowers brought by my sailor uncle from Madeira, 
should have gone askew duri-ng my previous wild races 
through the garden. 

On a high bluff" commanding beautiful reaches of the 
Potomac, just below Mount Vernon, from which estate 
it was divided by a creek called Dogue Run, stand in a 
tangled wilderness of trees and shrubs, relics of the 
foundation walls of old Belvoir House, burnt down 
during the Revolution. This dwelling, familiar in 
Virginia annals as the home of Colonel William Fair- 
fax, of Yorkshire, collector of the king's customs on 
the Potomac, and the frequent stopping-place of the 
bachelor Lord Fairfax of Greenway Court, has an es- 
pecial interest to patriotic Americans in that it was 
the second home and beloved resort of Washington 
in youth. Of Belvoir, he himself writes that the hap- 
piest hours of his life were spent there. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 35 

My childhood was fed upon stones of old Belvoir 
and its inmates — the master, Washington's mentor in 
the art of war — his son, the young soldier who went 
away from there to find his death with Montcalm be- 
fore Quebec — he to whom Wolfe said, "Young man, 
when we come into action, remember the name you 
bear" — and the sailor boy Thomas who went down 
in his majesty's ship Harwich fighting the French off 
Bourdaloue in the East Indies. Anne, the oldest daugh- 
ter, married Lawrence Washington, and became the 
first mistress of Mount Vernon. George was Washing- 
ton's comrade in the surveying tour in the Western wil- 
derness. Hannah became Mrs. Warner Washington, 
and last, not least, was Brian, my great-grandsire, sub- 
sequently eighth lord. I cannot remember when I 
did not wish that the family would recreate the tra- 
ditions of this old home. But Hygeia has been 
against it, for the old bogie of chills and fever to 
which our Virginian forebears bowed down so meekly 
— simply recording its annual return in their diaries, 
taking quinine or its equivalent and quaking without 
remonstrance — has never been banished from the spot. 

My son, Fairfax Harrison, has come nearer than any 
othet to realizing my dreams, for he has established a 
new Belvoir in Fauquier County, Virginia, upon land 
formerly belonging to the Greenway Court properties; 
and upon his library table lies the original "visitors* 
book" of the Revolutionary home, a copy of Thoresby's 
"Antiquities of Yorkshire," which, he had the luck to 
secure from England. Sold with other effects of the 
Fairfaxes at Bath, England, this interesting volume had 
for years been in the hands of the antiquarian collector, 
B. F. Stevens, Esq., in London, where a friend found 
it, subsequently waiving his right as a purchaser in 



36 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

favor of my son. Upon its fly-leaves are w^ritten many 
names of the frequenters of old Belvoir, appended to 
"sentiments," mostly in French or Latin. Three great- 
great grandsons of the original owner recently inscribed 
themselves on its time-worn record, headed by the pres- 
ent American-born Lord Fairfax, who, in this twentieth 
century, has become an English subject, his title con- 
firmed to him by the House of Lords in November, 
1908. 

As regards the pronunciation of the name "Bel- 
voir," it is probable it was in early days pronounced 
"Beever," like the seat of the dukes of Rutland, who 
were akin to the English Fairfaxes. Colonel Harrison 
Dodge, the representative of the national owners of 
Mount Vernon, who is nothing if not exact, so pro- 
nounces it, but the moderns of our family give it the 
French sound. 

In the small dining-room at Mount Vernon may be 
seen a fine old iron fireback, reclaimed from the ruins 
of Belvoir, bearing the lion crest and motto, "Fare 
Fac." 

In our part of the county everything clerical was 
under the immediate domination of the Theological 
Seminary. We and other neighborhood families sat on 
Sundays in the chapel of that institution (my grand- 
mother reserving two front pews in the left-hand 
transept for herself and guests), the main part of the 
nave being filled by the students and the high-school 
boys. Well do I remember when those pews of ours 
were filled to overflowing by devout female worship- 
pers from Vaucluse — mothers, aunts, and cousins who 
would not have shirked attendance for the world. 
They made nothing of two services and two ser- 
mons a day, and if the great and learned Dr. Spar- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 37 

row chanced to be in the pulpit, those sermons were no 
twenty-minute screeds! Other professors beloved in 
our circles were the Rev. Doctors Packard and May; 
and at a little distance to the left, going down the 
hill where in my time blue iris bordered the roadside, 
lived dear Bishop Johns, genial, lovable, and strong 
mentally, as befits a father in the church. It was the 
custom of our neighborhood to give from time to time 
tea-parties to the clergy and seniors among the students. 
On these evenings my grandmother's table was spread 
with her fairest damask, the best silver, cut glass, 
and a service of early Derby china, deep lapis lazuli 
blue, bordered with gilt, with pink eglantine in the cen- 
tre. A few cups and plates of this china deck my 
shelves to-day. Among the dainties heaped on the 
table one may be sure broiled chicken and thinnest 
slices of pink ham were not absent; nor hot Maryland 
biscuit, thin biscuit, every kind of biscuit, fresh butter, 
and a bewildering variety of preserves, including seg- 
ments of watermelon rind carved like lace work, with 
peaches and quinces in amber syrup, for the clergy al- 
ways liked Vaucluse preserves. Next followed a course 
of waffles, crisp and golden brown, over which one was 
asked to shake, out of the sifter of Queen Anne sil- 
ver, a shower of sugar and cinnamon combined. To 
these refections, in their turn came Messrs. Phillips 
Brooks and Henry Potter (already in their student days 
a head higher intellectually than the average of their 
fellows, and much in demand by Hill hostesses) with 
many another subsequent dignitary of the church. With 
the Hyde children and Clarence, I used to peep agape 
through the pantry door as it opened for the passage 
of successive good things, and wonder if the clericos 
intended to eat all night! 



38 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Among our neighbors were the McGuires, of How- 
ard, he the reverend rector of the Episcopal High 
School, she a dehghtful whole-souled woman, born 
Brockenborough, who afterward wrote a lively chron- 
icle of war days; the families of the professors I have 
named, and the household of General Samuel Cooper, 
then LTnited States adjutant-general in Washington, 
who had a country home, Cameron, on the hill. Mrs. 
Cooper was a daughter of George Mason, of Gunston 
Hall, and sister-in-law of General Lee's brother, Ad- 
miral Sydney Smith Lee. She had two daughters, 
Maria (Mrs. Wheaton), and Jennie, a great friend of 
mine. The Coopers, who drove to service in a two- 
horse carriage with a smart coachman, took the pas 
over Vaucluse in this respect, since we either walked or 
drove ourselves in a one-horse rockaway, our servants all 
having holiday on Sunday, it seemed to us. 

Near Cameron lived Miss Emily Mason, with her 
widowed sister, Mrs. Rowland, agreeable and culti- 
vated women both, with Mrs. Rowland's two daughters 
and two sons. Miss Mason, since widely known for 
her noble service as an army nurse as well as for her 
literary works and compilations, was an especial spot 
of sunshine on "the Hill." She died in Georgetown, 
very recently, at an advanced and green old age. 

Commodore French Forrest, with his gentle wife 
and his son, the late Rev. Douglas Forrest, once of the 
C. S. A., lived at Clermont. It was an attractive 
house, with wonderful box hedges and calycanthus 
bushes of unusual size. I remember a dance given 
by handsome Mrs. Forrest, when I wore a white 
"book-muslin," with my hair glued to my head with 
bandoline, then plaited in sixteen-strand braids coiled 
in a basket low upon the neck, in which were inserted 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 39 

white cape- jasmines set in rose-geranium leaves. We 
danced hard till daybreak, and I drove home in a 
buggy v^ith one of the older male cousins without 
dreaming of a chaperon. 

Near Vaucluse lived our cousin Arthur Herbert, of 
Muckross (he was like the youngest son of grandmam- 
ma's household), who was to go oflf to war as captain in 
the Seventeenth Regiment of Alexandria Volunteers, and 
after four years of hard fighting, through almost every 
battle of the army of northern Virginia, come back as 
colonel, with a record of many gallant deeds, and set- 
tle again in his old home. He found the crest of the 
hill on which his former house had stood bare of every- 
thing — dwelling, trees, fences, and outhouses all gone; 
but a United States fort built upon the site had left be- 
hind casemates of solid masonry, serving as fine cellars 
for the new house. Colonel Herbert married Miss 
Alice Gregory, of Petersburg, and, with their family, has 
continued to reside at Muckross — named for the orig- 
inal home of the Herberts near Killarney, in Ireland. 

Farther up in the county abode Mrs. Fitzhugh, of 
Ravensworth, the aunt by marriage of Mrs. Lee, of 
Arlington, to whose second son, General William Henry 
Fitzhugh Lee, she bequeathed her ancient estate. A 
visit I once made to Ravensworth, from Mr. Upton Her- 
bert's neighboring " Bleak House," has been always re- 
membered pleasantly. When my cousin Upton was 
nearly eighty, he used to make his visits to Ravens- 
worth riding upon a fiery young unbroken colt, and 
the Lee family would send a mounted servant after 
him when he returned to Bleak House, with orders not 
to shov/ himself, but to keep the old gentleman in sight. 

At Ravensworth, to-day, lives the widow of General 
W. H. Fitzhugh Lee (once handsome Miss Boiling, of 



40 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Petersburg), with her sons, and General Custis Lee, 
who, dispossessed of Arlington, has since made his 
home with his late brother's family. 

Time glided by peacefully in our sweet old home, 
broken only by the necessary severing of links in the 
chain of life that, by Heaven's mercy, close again to give 
us courage to go on. The early death of my brother 
Falkland, was followed in a few years by that of my 
gentle grandmother. We had few excitements; oc- 
casionally we went to the Springs, to make visits at 
Charlottesville, Baltimore, or Washington, and to the 
country-houses of friends. I visited sometimes at the 
Vineyard, the home of Mr. Conway Robinson, the 
learned Virginian jurist, near Washington. His son, 
Leigh Robinson, a brilliant graduate of the University 
of Virginia, fought through the war in the Army of 
Northern Virginia, and has since been at the bar in 
Washington. I had one journey, only, to the North, to 
visit the home of my aunt and uncle, the Gouverneur 
Morrises, of Morrisania. Not only did it seem wonder- 
ful to be penetrating to such a far-away region as New 
York, but I had heard such interesting stories about 
Morrisania: How it was built upon the site of his earl- 
ier home by Gouverneur Morris, member of the conven- 
tion which adopted the Constitution of the United States, 
senator, and minister to France during the Reign of 
Terror — who had known familiarly all the great actors 
of that awful drama, and the grandees of other countries. 
How he had come back to live at Morrisania, bringing 
a ship-load of relics from old palaces in France, mirrors, 
tapestries, gilded chairs and couches, books, a rare des- 
sert service of old Sevres, with forks and spoons of solid 
gold — and had put all these inside the oak-panelled 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 41 

walls of his home on the Harlem Kills, where they still 
remained. How he had entertained Talleyrand, the 
Jerome Bonapartes, Tom Moore, and all the visiting 
celebrities as well as statesmen of his day. How his 
romantic marriage at sixty with Miss Anne Randolph, of 
Virginia, had occurred there, his wife having a year later 
given him his only son, the then master of the house. 
How this second Gouverneur had in his turn married a 
Virginian lady, a first cousin. How when Grandmamma 
Cary went to see her nephew at Morrisania, in the early 
days after her sister's death, they would drive and drive, 
and be always, like the Marquis of Carabas, upon his 
own land! Now the estate had come down to forty 
acres surrounding the delightful, mellow old house. 
Piece by piece, my uncle had sold it for stations on the 
Hartford and New Haven railways, or else the great 
encroaching monster of New York had swallowed it by 
bits. 

Naturally, I was eager to visit there, and it was a 
time of unalloyed pleasure with my uncle and aunt and 
their family of boys and girls near my own age. 

But nothing whispered to me that one day, after a 
terrible war that should destroy my own home, I would 
be married from Morrisania. And yet this was to be! 

I am making no attempt to record chronologically the 
events of my modest experience in childhood. I am 
simply writing down, as they drift to me out of the mists 
of memory, things about the people most familiar to 
me, thinking it may interest readers as a page torn from 
old-time chronicles of American social life before the 
war. The two or three years after the reign of my 
French governess came to an end, were spent by me in 
Richmond at the boarding-school of M. Hubert Pierre 
Lefebvre. As a rule, narratives of boarding-school life 



42 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

are more interesting to the teller than to hearers, and 
I will only say that the experience broadened my horizon 
in introducing to me types of girls from the higher classes 
of society all over the South, and convincing me that the 
surrounding slave service was inspiring neither to the 
energy of body nor independence of ideas I had been 
taught to consider indispensable. Many of these pretty, 
languid creatures from the far Southern States had never 
put on a shoe or stocking for themselves; and the point 
of viev^ of some about owning and chastising fellow- 
beings who might chance to offend them was abhorrent 
to me. But they all came out grandly during the war, 
and after it. 

In some mysterious way I had drunk in with my 
mother's milk — who inherited it from her stern Sweden- 
borgian father — a detestation of the curse of slavery 
upon our beautiful Southern land. Then, of course, 
omnivorous reader that I was — I had early found and 
devoured "Uncle Tom's Cabin," "that mirxhievous, 
incendiary book," as some of our friends called it. When 
the thunderbolt of John Brown's raid broke over Vir- 
ginia I was inwardly terrified, because I thought it was 
God's vengeance for the torture of such as Uncle Tom. 

I was on a visit to my aunt, Mrs. Irwin, in Washing- 
ton, following Mr. Lincoln's inauguration, while yet 
arose in many households spirited discussion con- 
cerning the trend of national events. We young peo- 
ple had not waked up to a full understanding of the 
issues involved, nor had become the fierce partisans of 
after days. When, therefore, my aunt's husband (who 
remained a supporter of the Union during the war) in- 
sisted that, as an epoch in life, I should be taken to see 
the new President, I went with him to one of the levees 
at the White House. A terrible crush of people, it 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 43 

seemed to me, of all sorts and conditions, foreign min- 
isters preceding backwoodsmen in flannel shirts and 
Sunday coats, great ladies of the administration, in 
line with struggling women and children hardly dressed 
or kempt for festal occasion. That was the reception 
where the curtains had pieces cut out of them for souve- 
nirs by the backwoodsmen, who, it was said, swarmed 
to Washington in the wake of the "man of the people." 
Budding secessionist although I was, I can distinctly 
remember that the power of Abraham Lincoln's per- 
sonality then impressed itself upon me for a lifetime. 
Everything faded out of sight beside the apparition of the 
new President, towering at the entrance of the Blue 
Room. He held back the crowed a minute, while my 
hand had a curious feeling of being engulfed in his 
enormous palm, clad in an ill-fitting white kid glove. 
He said something kind to his youthful visitor, and over 
his rugged face played a summer lightning smile. We 
passed on, and I saw him no more till he drove past our 
house in captured Richmond, in an ambulance, with his 
little son upon his knee. 



CHAPTER III 

A ND now the war-clarion blew, the clans were all 
r\ alert, and every male creature belonging to us 
was straining for the fray. As Vaucluse lay in 
the track of probably advancing armies, my mother and 
aunt decided to send their younger children out of 
harm's way. Accordingly, to my despair, I was 
packed oflF with my brother Clarence and my little 
cousin Meta Hyde to stop with a relation at Mill- 
wood, in Clarke County, Virginia. Consolation, in 
the shape of lovely surroundings, bountiful hospitality, 
visits to such places as Saratoga, Carter Hall, The 
Moorings, Annfield, etc., made the May days dance 
along, until we were suddenly confronted with the news 
that Vaucluse had been forsaken by my mother and 
aunt, who had driven away by night in their own car- 
riage, their destination the immediate neighborhood of 
Manassas Junction, where the Southern troops were 
massing. 

One of the letters from my mother of this date told 
how at the last moment before leaving Vaucluse, hav- 
ing no way of despatching the silver to a safety-vault 
in Washington or Alexandria, she had undertaken to 
bury it in the cellar of the house. Aided by a young 
nephew who was to go on the morrow to volunteer at 
Manassas, and a faithful old negro gardener, who died 
soon afterward, they worked half the night (she hold- 
ing a lantern) till pits were made large enough to con- 
tain two large travelling trunks, into which the silver 

44 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 45 

had been hastily packed. The pits filled in and rubbish 
strewn over them, my mother got into the carriage before 
daybreak and drove away to the Confederate hnes. 

Four years later, the house having been destroyed 
by incendiaries, all the trees on the place cut down 
for breastworks, and the site used for a United States 
camp during many months, she came back to her 
home, accompanied by men with spades and picks. 
Save for slight depressions in the grass, there was no 
token of where the house had stood, and many bewil- 
dered moments were spent in searching for it. Some 
hours followed while the men toiled, and my mother sat 
on the ground and looked on, amid gathering tears. 
Any idle soldier prodding the ground might have struck 
the boxes, she argued, and there was little hope. Just 
as she was about giving the order to stop work, one of 
the men cried out, holding up a teaspoon black as jet! 
Soon the earth was covered with dark objects from 
around which the boxes had rotted. Candelabra, urn, 
tea-set, tankards, bowls, dishes, and the complete ser- 
vice of small silver were recovered, not a salt-spoon miss- 
ing! Sent to Gait's, in Washington, for treatment, they 
were soon restored to pristine brilliancy. 

In Mrs. Judith Brockenborough McGuire's "Diary 
of a Southern Refugee" is found the following, under 
date of July 30, 1862: 

"Vaucluse, too, the seat of such elegant hospitality, 
the refined and dearly loved home of the Fairfax fam- 
ily, has been levelled to the earth, fortifications thrown 
up across the lawn, the fine old trees felled, and the 
whole grounds, once so embowered and shut out from 
public gaze, now laid bare and open — ^Vaucluse no 
more!" 



46 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

If we were to join her at all, wrote my mother from 
Bristoe Station, it must be now, as who knew when the 
mihtary lines might shut us out ? She warned me in 
eloquent phrase that our sylvan paradise at Millwood 
must be exchanged for a poor little roadside tavern on 
the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, treeless, shabby, 
crowded to excess with officers' families, under burning 
sun all day, no ice for rather muddy water, no fruit, the 
plainest of fare, and nowhere to walk but up and down 
the railway track. Per contra^ the camp containing our 
boys was but five miles away; we should get all the army 
news direct; and day after day would see trains thun- 
dering by, full of eager soldiers, thrilling and shouting 
with joy that they were so near the goal! When the 
battle came we should be nearest it, to do our best for 
them. If our troops were to be driven back — why, then, 
we would "take our chance!" 

We went. By lumbering stage-coach down the peace- 
ful Shenandoah Valley, clad in the radiancy of summer 
foliage, by way-train here and there, passing "the Junc- 
tion," the centre of all hopes and thoughts, the cradle 
of the future Army of Northern Virginia — arriving safely 
and gladly at Bristoe to "take our chance" with the 
others. 

The month that elapsed before the first battle of the 
war, on July i8, 1861, was one in which I woke up to 
the strongest feeling of my young life. My mother saw 
her only remaining son, aged fifteen, looking several 
years younger, go into service as a marker in an Alex- 
andria regiment. She sewed for him, with the neatest 
of stitches, white gaiters, and a "havelock" for his 
cap — these afterward abandoned by authority as too 
shining marks for riflemen — tears dropping now and 
then upon her handiwork, but never a thought of tell- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 47 

ing him he should not go. All about me were women 
ready to give their all. I realized that love of country 
can mean more than love of self. 

In the family carriage, sold later as a superfluity of 
luxury to refugees and hospital nurses, we drove to 
several impromptu entertainments at Camp Pickens, 
during the month of waiting the enemy's advance. 
What young girl's heart would not beat quicker in re- 
sponse to such experi nee I There were dinners cooked 
and served to us by our soldier lads, spread upon rough 
boards, eaten out of tin plates and cups amid such a 
storm of rollicking gayety and high hope that war seemed 
a merry pastime. In the infancy of war, the Louisiana 
chieftain, General Pierre GustaveToutant Beauregard, 
of ancient Creole family, w^as distinctly looked upon as 
the future leader of the Confederacy. His name was 
upon all lips, his praise on every breeze that blew. 
Some early war rhymester wrote verses, of which the 
refrain was: 

"Beau canon, Beauregard! Beau soldat, Beauregard! 
Beau sabreur! Beau frappeur! Beauregard, Beauregard!" 

Needless to say that to be received with visitors* 
honors at his head-quarters was a source of undying 
pride. We met there the lamented Brigadier-General 
Bartow, killed at the first battle of Manassas; General 
Longstreet, who in those days, before he lost several 
children at once by scarlet fever, was rollicking and 
jolly always, looking, as his aid, Moxley Sorrel, after- 
ward said of him: "Like a rock of steadiness when 
sometimes in battle the world seemed flying to pieces"; 
and many another destined to high fame. There were 
drills, dress parades, and reviews, viewed from the head- 
quarters tents of great generals. In all our dreams 



48 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

sounded the blare of trumpets, the roll of drums. And 
so till the morning of July 17, when word came that 
our troops were moving forward! 

Now knew we the rude reality! Those women and 
girls and children left at Bristoe, who, on the i8th, spent 
all day on the railway tracks, straining eyes and ears in 
the direction of the belt of woodland above which arose 
columns of gun smoke, hearing the first guns of the war 
as distinctly as one hears a fog-horn on an Atlantic 
hner, had mostly all they loved best in the fight. It 
seemed eternal, that sullen roar of artillery, that crackle 
of fire-arms. And who should say how it was coming 
out .? We could not rest; we could not speak or eat. 
Toward afternoon appeared, limping down a long, red 
clay road, a single, smoke-stained, fiery-faced ban- 
daged soldier. With one accord the women fell upon 
him like a swarm of bees, questioned, fed, soothed, ex- 
alted him. He was rather a dreadful-looking person, we 
had to own, and his manner unpleasant, to say the least. 
His wound, on examination, proved a mere scratch on 
the middle finger, but he rose to the occasion as a hero, 
and answered our fevered, eager queries with statements 
that took our breath away. 

"The Seventeenth Virginia," he responded to our 
especial inquiry. "Why, they fought like tigers and 
was cut all to pieces. Hardly an officer was left." 

A beaming smile and a strong whifF of whiskey ac- 
companying this revelation, we took heart to doubt. 
But none the less, that first wounded soldier from Bull 
Run had enjoyed a monopoly of patriotic sympathy 
never again to be surpassed. 

A little later we heard of Confederate victory and that 
our boys were safe. It nerved us for the evening's work. 
After dark, a train came thundering into our station, 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 49 

stopping to ask food and drink for the wounded. By 
lantern light we passed through the cars, carrying and 
distributing all there was to give. 

Over and again we were to do this service during the 
four years to come. Never, perhaps, with such keen 
emotion. 

The day before, a closely veiled, shabbily dressed 
Httle woman, her luggage a small archaic hair-trunk 
inscribed with undistinguished name, had been put off 
a train from Richmond upon the platform before our 
poor, overpacked hostelry. In vain did Lipscomb, our 
distracted host, assure her there wasn't a room or a bed 
left for any one — nothing save a servant's pallet on the 
floor of a hot garret. Also, he stated, looking her over 
doubtfully, all the occupants of this ' hotel ' were mem- 
bers of officers' families well known to General Beaure- 
gard. She kept her ground manfully, explained that 
she had been ill of typhoid, had come all the way from 
New Orleans to be near her brother at the front, and 
had no strength to turn back; so he gave her the gar- 
ret, where a negro girl carried her food and drink; and 
we lookers-on thought no more of her in the greater 
excitement of the coming battle. 

In the evening, my mother having gone on to Cul- 
peper Court House to volunteer as a nurse in the new 
military hospital, my aunt, who was busy elsewhere, 
suggested that I go up to see what had become of the 
odd little woman in the garret. When I tapped at the 
door it was no uneducated voice that bade me enter, 
but one sweet and refined, coming from a girl huddled 
on a chair near the window, who sprang up to meet me 
with a cry of joy. 

"News! News from the front.""' That was all she 
wanted, not supper or anything. The servant girl had 



50 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

told her the troops were moving. It was a mercy 
to speak to any one; she had cried all day, and now 
thought she would go mad. 

Little by little, it came out that she was the petted 
daughter of a wealthy Creole family, engaged to a lieu- 
tenant of artillery, with whom she had quarrelled and 
broken just as he went off to Virginia with the battal- 
ion in which her brother was also an officer. Repent- 
ing, she tried to wire him her regrets, and finally, on the 
impulse of a moment, had left the plantation where her 
family were, went into her mother's town house, pos- 
sessed herself of the housekeeper's trunk and garments, 
and set off for Virginia. Her intention, only to see him 
and then go back again, spite of her dread of the broth- 
er's wrath should he find out her escapade, was now 
frustrated by the movement to the front! 

Taken thus into confidence in a rare romance of 
which the heroine seemed to my fervid imagination one 
of the most fascinating little creatures ever seen — 
charmed by her good looks, her dainty lingerie with fine 
embroidery and lace, the rich toilet articles strewn about, 
and the gold-mounted writing-case from which she took 
her lover's portrait to show it to me — I readily prom- 
ised secrecy and, if possible, help. She cheered up at 
this, and to my surprise ended by kissing me, then 
promised to eat her neglected supper and try to sleep. 

During the battle, next day, she again passed out of 
my mind, and when, at dusk, a shabby little veiled 
figure stole up upon the platform and begged me to go 
with her for an instant to her room, I acquiesced. When 
there, she burst into a storm of tears and sobs. The day 
had nearly killed her, she had spoken to nobody, her 
heart was breaking with anxiety. She had heard there 
was a list of wounded in the grocery store; would I 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 51 

mind seeing whether his name or her brother's was 
upon it ? 

And then she told the names which I was to come to 
know well and respect in after days! 

I coaxed her downstairs again, and while all the rest 
of us squeezed into the little country store where, be- 
hind the counter, by the light of a tallow candle, a man 
was spelling out a newly arrived register of the casual- 
ties of the day, she stood outside in the darkness, afraid 
to show herself. Begging for a glance at the paper, I 
ran my eye hastily over it, and the third or fourth name 
w^as that of her lover, " badly wounded ! " And — strange 
happening of my first war love-story! — just after I had 
induced her to go back to her room with her misery^, 
the first train of wounded men from Manassas slowed 
up at Bristoe, and while every woman and girl in the 
hotel except herself went through it carrying milk, water, 
brandy, and bread, to my lot it fell to minister to a young 
Louisiana artilleryman lying upon a cot in a freight car, 
suffering greatly, but with perfect fortitude; while she 
who had been his affianced was at ten steps from him, 
wearing her heart out in longing for him, yet knowing 
nothing of his vicinity. 

The sequel of this episode was, alas! not cheerful. 
They met again in Richmond, whither he was taken and 
she followed, but the breach between them widened 
instead of drawing together, and then two lives went 
apart. 

On Saturday evening, July 20, a messenger was sent 
by General Beauregard to the ladies and children at 
Bristoe, saying that an engine and car would be placed 
at their disposal, with urgent advice for them to leave 
immediately for a point of greater safety, since a battle 
was impending upon whose issue it was impossible to 



52 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

count. The women, sewing flannel shirts and making 
bandages fast as hands could fly, looked at each other 
and sent- thanks to the general, with the answer that 
they preferred to stay. 

That Sunday of the "first Manassas" was a repeti- 
tion on a larger scale of our experience of the i8th. 
Some women sewed awhile, then ran bareheaded, des- 
perate, out in the burning sun to look, to listen, to pray, 
to yearn! With every fresh roar of cannon came the 
piercing javelin of thought, "Was mine taken then.f"' 
"Was mine .?" 

By mid-day we heard of victory and the rout of the 
Federal forces. By evening we had individual re- 
turns. Again, those most near to us were preserved 
in safety. 

My brother, the marker, although twice ordered 
by his sympathetic superiors to the rear to guard hos- 
pital stores, had managed to get his full share of the 
excitement. The story told by his captain of seeing 
the tired little fellow, during an interval in the fight, 
asleep under a tree, near which a shell had burst with- 
out warning or awakening him, went into the newspa- 
pers with sundry other more sensational accounts of his 
prowess, since disavowed. He told us of wading Bull 
Run quite up to his knees, in pursuit of the fleeing 
enemy, and of the long tramp to Fairfax Court House 
and back; the greatest hardship to our troops being that 
they were obliged to pass by forsaken tents with deli- 
cious soup boiling itself away upon the fires, and abun- 
dant food everywhere — together with a sutler's wagon 
broken open, its tempting contents scattered on the 
ground — when all they could lay hold of as first spoils 
of war was a jar of "sticks of candy," greatly enjoyed 
in the ranks as far as it would go. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 53 

My brother was that same evening ordered by Gen- 
eral Longstreet, who picked him up upon the field, to 
his head-quarters as "courier." His duties of message- 
carrying to the various head-quarters through the camps 
were made lighter by the necessity of exercising the fine 
horses of a late staff officer, Colonel Fisher, killed in the 
action of the 21st, and his leisure time more pleasant by 
the society of Colonel Moxley Sorrel and an afterward 
much-talked-of Major Terry, a noted scout and Texan 
ranger, who delighted him by stories of Indian warfare 
on the plains, etc.; the line of demarcation between offi- 
cers and privates having hardly yet made itself felt, so 
numerous were the gentlemen in ranks. Shortly after- 
ward, through our friend. Congressman W. W. Boyce, 
of South Carolina, Clarence received his commission 
as midshipman in the Confederate States navy, and 
reported for duty in Richmond. From that time till 
the end of the war he was in active service whenever 
opportunity occurred. 

A fact about the first battle of Manassas told to me 
by my husband, years later, as an authentic instance of 
the secret history of the war, may be inserted here. A 
lady in Washington it was, a member of the family of 
Mrs. Dolly Madison, who actually enabled the Confed- 
erate generals to win that important victory in July, 
1 86 1, and the Confederate government, after that suc- 
cess, to muster men and resources in the South un- 
available had we suffered defeat. The fact was well 
known and always admitted by Confederate author- 
ities. 

An impatient expectation was at fever heat in both 
North and South. General Scott and his lieutenants 
were incessantly urged by his government to move upon 
the enemy. The whole Northern press was clamoring 



54 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

"on to Richmond." "We shall move to-morrow," was 
repeatedly announced from Washington, to be^ollowed, 
on the morrow, by the explanation, "The ao^anHje is 
necessarily delayed for a week, for further prepara- 
tion." By the middle of July, everything seemed to* 
depend for the South upon concentration of our forces ^\ 
at the exact moment of advance, before General Mc- \ 
Dowell could be reinforced by General Patterson. 
Until then, her brigades must be kept widely distributed 
— General Johnston before Martinsburg, General Bon- 
ham at Fairfax Court House, General Holmes on the 
Potomac, near Eastport; a force that, if assembled, 
would be greatly outnumbered by General McDowell's 
single column. 

To accomplish this end, General Beauregard must 
know exactly when McDowell should be ordered to be- 
gin his march of invasion. 

From the lady in Washington this fateful information 
came to Confederate head-quarters, carried by a trusty 
messenger down the Potomac on the Maryland side, 
who, crossing near Dumfries, reached Manassas at the 
critical instant, safely arrived with a note, reading as 
follows: 

"McDowell has certainly been ordered to advance 
on the sixteenth. (Signed) R. O. G." 

The informant's initials and handwriting were rec- 
ognized, her statement accepted. Bonham, pulled be- 
hind the line of Bull Run, narrowly escaped his pur- 
suers, who, at noon on the 17th, marched through what 
had been his camp. Holmes was brought up on the 
right; Johnston was called down from before Patterson, 
to arrive in the very nick of time during the battle of 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 55 

the 2 1 St, when the unexpected appearance of his men 
threw McDowell's right into confusion, resulting in the 
panic and rout of his army. 

So much for a clever woman's use of official informa- 
tion gained unexpectedly. Not the first time, however, 
that a woman's touch has set the pendulum of a nation's 
fate aswino;! 

My dearest mother was by now well launched in her 
hospital nursing at Culpeper Court House, first, among 
the many soldiers ill in the Methodist church, and, later, 
among the wounded. Her life from this time forward 
(afterward at Camp Winder, near Richmond) was of 
the hardest and most heroic kind. I have never known 
any woman possessed of better qualifications for her 
task. With a splendid physique, almost unbroken good 
health, a tireless hand, and a spirit of tender sympathy, 
she was the ideal attendant upon homesick boys from 
the far South, disheartened by illness at the outset of 
their campaign, as well as those cruelly mangled and 
wounded in the first fights. Almost every comfort we 
have nowadays in nursing was absent from the begin- 
ning, and toward the last the hospitals were unspeaka- 
bly lacking in needfuls. Sleeping on a soldier's bunk, 
rising at dawn, laboring till midnight, my mother faced 
death and suffering with the stout spirit that was a rock 
of refuge to all around her. Her record, in short, was 
that of a thousand other saintly women during that 
terrible strife. How many dying eyes looked wist- 
fully into hers; how many anguished hands clung to 
hers during operations or upon death-beds! What poor 
lonely spirits far from home and kin took courage from 
her lips, to flutter feebly out into the vast unknown! 
What words of Christian cheer she whispered ! what 
faith, hope, love were embodied in that tall, noble fig- 



56 RECOLLFXTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

ure and sweet, sad face moving tirelessly upon her 
rounds ! 

"They call to me all over the church like a set of boys 
after their mother," she wrote me at this time, "and tell 
me they should give up and die if I left them," and then, 
characteristically modest, she begs me not to show this 
letter to any one. And here, a lifetime intervening, I 
venture to disobey her! 

A week after the first battle of Manassas I rode on 
horseback with a party over the field, between hill-sides 
piled with hecatombs of dead horses and scattered with 
hasty graves. The trees and undergrowth were broken 
and bullet-riddled. The grass between the scars of 
upturned earth was green as if it had known no bap- 
tism of fire and blood, and little wild flowers had already 
begun to bloom again, but for obvious reasons we could 
take but a passing glimpse. I saw a ghastly semblance 
of a hand protruding at one spot, and thought of it 
when I stood in the crypt of the Pantheon, in Paris, 
by the gloomy tomb of Rousseau, where a skeleton 
hand holds up from within the bronze coffin lid of the 
French philosopher and epoch-maker. 

My mother had arranged for me to stay near her at 
Culpeper, at a beautiful old place called Belpre, where 
I was most kindly entreated and made one of themselves 
by the family. It was my wise mother's desire that I, 
already pressing forward into unwonted privilege and 
eager to consider myself "a young lady," should be put 
back into the place habitual to immature years, and 
spend my days in reading and study. Alas! it was war- 
time; I had already tasted the sweets of emancipation; 
the woods were full of handsome and delightful officers 
and privates, eager to be entertained and heartened for 
the fray. Like all the other girls of my acquaintance 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 57 

thereabout, I grew up in a night, and soon there was 
plenty of women's work for us! 

Even now, writing of it after so many, many years, I 
seem to feel again the pulse of that thrilling time. And 
it was here that there came intimately into my life one 
of its strongest influences, in the radiant person of my 
cousin, Hetty Cary, daughter of my uncle, Wilson Miles 
Cary, of Baltimore, my father's elder and only brother. 
She, with her younger sister, Jennie, had taken the lead 
in the secessionist movement among the young girls 
in Baltimore, who, having seen all their best men march 
across the border to enlist with the Confederates for the 
war, relieved their strained feelings by overt resentment 
of the Union officers and troops placed in possession of 
their city. 

It was Jennie Cary who set Randall's stirring poem 
of "Maryland" to the air of "Lauriger Horatius" 
(brought to her by Burton Harrison, when a student at 
Yale College), and first sang it with a chorus of her 
friends in a drawing-room in Baltimore. She tells me 
that the refrain, as originally printed in the copy of 
verses cut by them out of a newspaper, was simply 
*' Maryland!" and that she added the word "My" in 
obedience to the exigency of the music. As the song 
thus boldly chanted by young Confederate sympathiz- 
ers, in a city occupied by their enemy and under strict 
martial rule, was to drift over the border, to be caught 
eagerly by the troops of the Maryland line, and to echo 
down the ages as the most famous battle-song of the 
Confederacy, it is fitting that to Miss Jennie Cary should 
be awarded all the honor of this achievement. We both 
sang it amid a little group of visitors in September, 1861, 
standing in the doorway of Captain Sterrett's tent at 
Manassas, the men of the Maryland line facing us in 



58 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

the dusk of evening. This was in answer to the request 
sent in from the soldiers to their friend, Captain Ster- 
rett, "that they might hear a woman's voice again." 
I can hear now the swing of that grand chorus, as the 
men gradually caught up the refrain and echoed it, and 
by next day, to our joy and pride, the whole camp 
at Manassas was resounding with ''My Maryland!" 

Miss Hetty Cary, as fearless as she was beautiful, 
having incurred the displeasure of the military govern- 
ment of Baltimore by shaking from the window of her 
father's home, while the Union troops marched by it, 
a Confederate banner smuggled through the lines, had 
been warned to leave Baltimore under penalty of im- 
mediate arrest and transfer to a Northern bastile. The 
two sisters, carrying drugs for the hospitals and uniforms 
for friends, had run the blockade with their brother, 
crossing to join the army through many perilous adven- 
tures, and were now stopping with friends in Orange, 
to be ultimately under my mother's chaperonage. I 
had always looked up to my cousin, Hetty, as a young 
girl is apt to do to an acknowledged belle and beauty 
older than herself, with a sort of adoring championship, 
and as circumstances were to throw us into the closest 
intimacy, I hardly believed in my good fortune, that 
summer, of going around with her in the exciting diver- 
sions of the hour. 

Lest I be thought over-partial, I will quote an extract 
from a newspaper letter describing my cousin to the 
readers of the New Orleans Crescent (which gives also 
a fair idea of the liberality of praiseful epithet bestowed 
by Southerners upon their elected belles): 

"Look well at her, for you have never seen, and will 
probably never see again, so beautiful a woman! Ob- 
serve her magnificent form, her rounded arms, her neck 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 59 

and shoulders perfect as if from the sculptor's chisel, her 
auburn hair, the poise of her well-shaped head. Saw 
you ever such color on woman's cheek ? And she is not 
less intelligent than beautiful. . . . She is dressed in 
pure white. It is worth a king's ransom, a lifetime of 
trouble, to look at one such woman. No wonder Beau- 
regard pronounced her the most beautiful in that city 
of lovely women — Baltimore." 

Such, with variants, was the kind of rhetoric be- 
stowed on this young lady in her path through life. 
Perhaps the best thing I can say of her is that it never 
spoiled her, that she was always simple, straightforward, 
generous, and high-minded — daring to a fault, but not 
stooping from her inheritance of good breeding and 
gentle womanhood. In her train, her sister and I en- 
joyed some merry experiences of military entertainment 
that would not otherwise have come our way. In 
addition to the already-spoken-of visit to Manassas, in 
September of that year — when our party slept, or rather 
giggled, half the night, upon layers of cartridge flannel 
on the hard floor of a tent, with a row of hoop-skirts 
hanging like balloons on the pole overhead, and sol- 
diers guarding us outside — we enjoyed a dinner with 
General Beauregard upon what he called his "last 
duck." On this occasion was organized the troop of the 
"Cary Invincibles." On a scrap of torn blue paper I 
find pencilled the list of its officers, including myself as 
"captain-general"; Miss Hetty Cary, lieutenant-colonel; 
Miss Jennie Cary, first lieutenant, etc., etc., with many 
dignitaries of the day placed in inferior positions! Colo- 
nel A. S. Barbour and Colonel H, W. Vandegrift were 
our military engineers; staffs officers. Colonel W. W. 
Boyce and Lieutenant P. B. Hooe; Lieutenant-Colonel 
William Munford was historian and bard; the Hon. 



6o RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Mr. Clingman, private secretary; Mr. John Addison, 
chief cook; Governor Manning, scribe-general; and the 
vivandiere w^as Mr. A. D. Banks. 

To the readers of that ineffable romance, "The 
Heroine," will immediately occur the personnel of the 
Lady Cherubina de Willoughby's followers! So much 
fun grew out of our organization, and so much wit was 
lavished upon it by others, I venture to insert our non- 
sense here. 

The Cary Invincibles being once bidden to a certain 
head-quarters dinner, given on a hot summer's day at a 
little roadside cabin near Bull Run, were treated after- 
ward to the stirring spectacle of a division on the march, 
defiling along a red clay road gashed in Virginia soil, 
thus to be pictured by me as it appeared to my eager 
eyes: 

"What was yonder cloud of luminous vapor rolling 
in — that wave of sound, gathering strength and sub- 
stance as it reached the ear .? Presently, emerging from 
the golden mist, we saw, first, horsemen, pacing lei- 
surely; then caissons and guns; and after them, rank 
upon rank of marching men in gray! And above the 
dust, banners of scarlet crossed with blue ! " And as they 
passed our group, some officer, recognizing us, started 
a chant, caught up along the line and rendered into a 
grand sonorous swing: 

"She breathes, she burns, she'll come, she'll come 
Maryland! My Maryland!" 

There were our merry hosts, joining in the refrain 
with tremendous lung power; and there were we thi:ee 
girls laughing and crying, at once, in our delight. Who 
ever before had the luck, or planned with such con- 
summate skill, so to entertain guests .? 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 6i 

In the autumn, when my cousins had gone to Albe- 
marle to visit relatives, we three had the honor of being 
asked by the committee of Congress to make the first 
battle-flags of the Confederacy after the design finally 
decided on by them. It is generally stated by histori- 
ans that these flags were constructed from our own 
dresses, but it is certain we possessed no wearing ap- 
parel in the flamboyant hues of poppy red and vivid dark 
blue required. We had a great search for materials. 
I had to content myself with a poor quality of red silk 
for the field of mine, necessitating an interlining, which 
I regretted. I have always been sorry we did not keep 
the model sketches, with directions, assigned to us by 
the committee which decided the matter, and delivered 
by Major A. D. Banks. Our work done, a golden fringe 
sewed around each flag (and, in my case, my name em- 
broidered upon it in golden letters), we were at liberty to 
present them as head-quarters banners to our favorite 
generals. Miss Hetty Cary, having first choice, sent 
hers to General Joseph E. Johnston, Miss Jennie Cary's 
went to General Beauregard — serving to drape the cof- 
fin of Beauregard and of Jeff^erson Davis — and mine 
to General Earl Van Dorn, a dashing cavalry leader, for 
whom was then predicted great fame and success. I had 
never seen Van Dorn, and was rather alarmed at my 
temerity in selecting him, but I knew his aide-de- 
camp, Captain Durant da Ponte, grandson of the li- 
brettist of "Don Giovanni," and himself a charming 
poet. Through Captain da Ponte, I was emboldened 
to send off" my flag, with the following note. In those 
days, as I have shown, we were in favor of the flowery 
style of expressing high sentiment. I transcribe the 
correspondence from a newspaper clipping of the 
period : 



62 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

"CuLPEPER Court House, Va., 
"AToi;. 10, 1 86 1. 

"Will General Van Dorn honour me by accepting a 
flag which I have taken great pleasure in making, and 
now send with an earnest prayer that the work of my 
hand may hold its place near him as he goes out to a 
glorious struggle — and, God willing, may one day wave 
over the re-captured batteries of my home near the 
down-trodden Alexandria ? 

"I am, very respectfully, Genl. Van Dorn's obedient 

s^'^^^"^' "Constance Cary." 



"Army of the Potomac, Manassas, 
"Nov. 12, 1 86 1. 
"To Miss Constance Cary, Culpeper C. H. 

"Dear Lady: The beautiful flag made by )^our hands 
and presented to me with the prayer that it should be 
borne by my side in the impending struggle for the ex- 
istence of our country, is an appeal to me as a soldier as 
alluring as the promises of glory; but when you express 
the hope, in addition, that it may one day wave over 
the re-captured city of your nativity, your appeal be- 
comes a supplication so beautiful and holy that I were 
craven-spirited indeed, not to respond to it with all the 
ability that God has given me. Be assured, dear young 
lady, that it shall wave over your home if Heaven smiles 
upon our cause, and I live, and that there shall be writ- 
ten upon it by the side of your name which it now bears, 
'Victory, Honor and Independence.' 

"In the meantime, I shall hope that you may be as 
happy as you, who have the soul thus to cheer the soldier 
on to noble deeds and to victory — should be, and that 
the flowers wont to bloom by your window, may bloom 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 63 

as sweetly for you next May, as they ever did, to wel- 
come you home again. 

"Very truly and respectfully, dear lady, I am your 
humble and obedient servant. 

*'Earl Van Dorn, 

''Major-General, P. A, C. S." 

Captain da Ponte told me that when the flag arrived 
at Van Dorn's head-quarters and was adopted into the 
division, a young officer sprang up, unsheathed his 
sword, and held it hilt downward upon the table, while 
one after the other of his comrades clasped the blade; 
when all swore a knightly oath to make good the giver's 
petition, after which they drank to the flag and to her. 

Ah! well! One may grow old and the snows of 
"yesteryear" may have fallen thick over young hearts 
and hopes, but one does not forget such scenes or the 
spirit that inspired them! 

One day at Culpeper, when I sat sewing with my 
mother, I was summoned to see a man who said he "was 
a messenger from General Van Dorn." I found awaiting 
me, cap in hand, a huge cavalryman with a bashful 
boy's face, who bowed and blushed as I came in, ex- 
plaining that he had a note from the general, to be put 
into my hand only. The note placed at my disposition 
Charles Dillon, special scout and most trustworthy 
courier, who "might be soon going into Alexandria, 
and would bring out, if he had an order to my friends, 
anything I had left behind, and wanted." 

"Oh! But there's nothing I have, or ever had, 
worth risk to a brave soldier," I made haste to pro- 
test. "I've the general's orders, miss," he said, 
"and if it wornt anything better, I was to get you a 
little bit of a flower. You're the lady that made our 



64 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

head-quarters battle-flag, miss, and we think a good 
bit of that flag." 

The end of it was that, ten days later, Dillon brought 
me a little wrap of blue and white, one of my girlish 
treasures, deeply lamented, which he had secured 
through a note to my great-aunts, now removed to Alex- 
andria. He had gone into the town disguised as a 
countryman driving a cart-load of firewood; and what 
further the big fellow brought away with him, I never 
asked. 

Dillon became one of the most famous scouts of the 
early war time, achieving a hundred brilliant exploits. 
He came to his death, poor fellow, at the hands of a party 
of United States cavalrymen, who are said to have cut 
the head from his body, leaving him in the woods. For 
this horror I cannot vouch. After mentioning him in 
an article for the Century Magazine^ I received this 
letter: 

"Alleghany, New York, March 31, 1886. 
"Madam: 

" In your article, "A Virginia Girl in the First Year of 
the War," published in the August (1885) number of 
the Century y you speak of a famous scout by the name of 
Dillon, and when I read it I was filled with a desire to 
know if he was not Charles Dillon, a noted Confederate 
scout and spy, who lost his life near Burke's Station, 
Virginia, in March, 1862. This fellow surely was one 
of the most daring, and his body was decently buried 
by my company. 

"Very Hkely his comrades never knew his end, his 
grave was marked with his name, but the evacuation of 
Manassas was begun about that time, and the Confed- 
erates never had possession of that territory afterwards. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 65 

The incident of his capture created no little interest at 
the time and you may have known of it. If you did not, 
then I think if he was the same Dillon who brought you 
the relics, you will be interested to know what I have 
written; and these thoughts I beg to offer as an apol- 
ogy for the liberty I take in addressing you. 
"Very respectfully yours, 

"H. C. Altenburg." 

Strangely enough, I never met General Van Dorn, 
whose sphere of military action was soon transferred to 
the South-west. My flag went with him through much 
brilliant service to the Confederacy in Virginia, in the 
trans-Mississippi, and the States of Tennessee and 
Mississippi. It was torn with bullets and stained with 
the smoke of Pea Ridge, Corinth, luka, Holly Springs, 
and other battle-fields, when, after his death, it was 
finally put back into my hands, through the general's 
instructions, by his nephew. Captain Clement Sullivan. 
I have it now at my house in Washington. 

One of the meetings I prized most was that with 
Major Pelham, of Alabama, a young hero, whose name, 
"the gallant Pelham," given to him by General Lee, 
was already on every tongue around us. He was on 
horseback before a friend's door in Culpeper, waiting 
till I came out to mount for a ride somewhere. A 
slim boy with a dark, sparkling face is what the 
splendid Pelham seemed to me in that brief en- 
counter, followed by a little war of wits. He was 
killed in 1863 — having just received his promotion as 
lieutenant-colonel — in an engagement at Beverley Ford, 
to which he had hastened on a borrowed horse while on 
furlough, making a visit. Springing to arms at the first 
sound of a cannon in his neighborhood, this brilliant 



66 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

young officer, who had passed through so many general 
engagements with safety, fell in a terrible fire from the 
enemy, and was carried back into Culpeper to the house 
of the friends where I first met him, and where his death 
occurred. 



CHAPTER IV 

IN the early days of the winter of '62, my mother, 
wedded to her beloved hospital work at Culpeper 
Court House, sent me to Richmond to be under 
care of my uncle and aunt, Dr. and Mrs, Fairfax, 
who had found quarters in the Clifton House, a 
dreary old building, indifferently kept, honey-combed 
with subterranean passages suggesting the roman- 
ces of Mrs. Radcliffe, where, however, we girls cer- 
tainly managed to extract "sunbeams from cucum- 
bers." For there my Cary cousins, Hetty and Jennie, 
arrived from Charlottesville to join our refugee band, 
and the reign of the beautiful Hetty began as, per- 
haps, chief of the war beauties of the day. Our 
cousin, Jennie Fairfax, was also of our merry group. 
For want of a sitting-room, we took possession of 
what had been a doctor's office, a little way down 
the hilly street, communicating with the hotel by an 
underground passage, dark as Erebus, through which, 
in rainy or snowy weather, we passed by the light of a 
bedroom candle. Many a dignitary of State and camp 
will recall our Clifton evenings. Several times we gave 
suppers to which we contributed only a roast turkey, a 
ham, and some loaves of bread, with plates and knives 
and forks. It was an amusing sight to see a major- 
general come in hugging a bottle of brandied peaches, 
and a member of Congress carrying his quota of sar- 
dines and French prunes. At these feasts there was a 
democratic commingling of officers and "high-privates." 



68 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

To the latter, it was part of our creed always to dispense 
our best smiles and tidbits. So great was the rush of 
visitors that our mulatto attendant, Cornelius, dubbed 
"the Centurion," was kept from striking for liberty 
only by much cajolery and frequent small tips. 

Of the town gayeties that winter I recall a fancy-dress 
party at the McMurdo's, in Grace Street. One of the 
daughters, Miss Saidee McMurdo, an exquisite creature 
with large dark eyes and arched brows, married Mr. 
Alfred Rives, of Albemarle, and became the mother of 
Amelie Rives, the author, now Princess Troubetskoi 
(Mrs. Rives has died since these words were written). 
This was my first "real" party in Richmond, and my 
mother being in town on a rest furlough, she made up 
for me, with her own dear fingers, the costume of a Louis 
XV court lady, styled "Mme. la Marquise de Creve- 
Coeur," decided upon chiefly because of a stiff' old petti- 
coat of wine-colored reps silk found in some family 
trunk. Shopping diligently, she had found spangles 
for my shoes and fan ; feathers for the high-rolled pow- 
dered hair were lent from some one's store; mask, pearl 
necklace, and old blonde lace were forthcoming, and 
my kind uncle cut out from court-plaster a coach 
and horses, by way of a patch of the period, for the 
cheek. What the other girls wore I selfishly can't 
remember! 

The first event to bring all patriotic Richmond into 
the streets that winter was the inauguration of our Pres- 
ident, Jefferson Davis, on February 22, 1862. We were 
asked to witness the ceremony from a window of the 
Virginia State Library in the Capitol by our friend, 
Mr. John R. Thompson, the librarian-in-chief, and 
were entertained, while awaiting events, with the latest 
Northern papers, Harper s Weekly and others, together 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 69 

with the extraordinary apparition of a box of French 
bc>nbons just arrived by underground express. 

It was a dismal day, depressing to stoutest spirits, rain 
falHng heavily, and Capitol Square beneath us one 
mass of open umbrellas. When the poor wet bishop and 
the President-elect came upon the stand, there was an 
immediate, portentous hush in the crowd. One heard 
nothing but the patter of the winter rain. The brief 
ceremony over, when President Davis kissed the book, 
accepting, under God, the great trust of our young and 
struggling nation, a great shout went up and we distinctly 
heard cries of "God bless our President!" That even- 
ing President and Mrs. Davis received at their residence, 
making a most favorable impression upon all Richmond. 

We had been hearing a good deal of the inner life 
of the President's family from a young inmate of his 
household destined to play an important part in my life 
thereafter. This was Burton Norvell Harrison, bo.rn 
in Louisiana, of Virginia parentage on the father's 
side, who, at the instance of his friend. Congressman 
L. Q. C. Lamar, had been summoned by the President 
to be his private secretary at the moment when Mr. 
Harrison was about to enlist in New Orleans as a private 
in the ranks of the Washington Artillery. Mr. Harri- 
son, having graduated at Yale in the class of 1859, had 
been designated by President F. A. P. Barnard, then 
of Oxford University, in Mississippi (whose first wife 
was Mr. Harrison's aunt), to occupy a junior professor- 
ship in that institution, and had remained there until 
the outbreak of the war. 

During vacations from Yale spent with his uncle, the 
Rev. Dr. William Francis Brand, rector of St. Mary's 
Church, near Emmorton, Maryland, Mr. Harrison had 
made friends with my Baltimore cousins, who were in- 



70 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

timate with the Brand family; but I had never chanced 
to meet the much-praised young Yalensian, whom the 
Cary girls had vaunted until I declared myself aweary 
of his name. It was at the Clifton House, where Mr. 
Harrison came to call upon my cousins, that our ac- 
quaintance began. 

We were all interested in what Burton Harrison had 
to say of the Davises. Every one knew the traditions 
of Mrs. Jefferson Davis, as handed down from her career 
as a senator's wife in Washington, in the administra- 
tions of Pierce and Buchanan. She was declared to be 
a woman of warm heart and impetuous tongue, witty 
and caustic, with a sensitive nature underlying all; a 
devoted wife and mother, and most gracious mistress 
of a salon. Miss Margaret Howell, the exceedingly 
clever sister of Mrs. Davis, afterward Mme. de Stoeurs, 
of England, was the young lady of the Richmond White 
House; and it is safe to say that no wittier talk was ever 
bandied over the teacups in any land than passed daily 
between the several bright spirits thus assembled at 
the President's table. Mrs. Davis had been somewhat 
depressed, on the day of the inauguration, by an ar- 
rangement for her progress to Capitol Square made by 
her negro coachman. When they set out, at a snail's 
pace, she observed, walking solemnly and with faces of 
unbroken gloom, on either side of her carriage, four 
negroes in black clothes, wearing gloves of white cotton. 
Demanding impatiently of the coachman what in the 
world this performance meant, she was informed : "This, 
madam, is the way we always does in Richmond at 
funerals and sich-like." Mrs. Davis, telling the story 
inimitably that evening, said she was almost grieved to 
have to "order the pall-bearers away," so proud were 
they of their dignified position. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 71 

Concerning the affairs, big or little, of "The Chief," 
Mr. Harrison was wont to preserve continual discreet 
silence. He would say only that the President had the 
happiest relations with his family, by whom he was re- 
vered, incidentally remarking that to accompany the 
chief on horseback, always his duty, together with some 
of the aides, was to sit in the saddle indefinitely, in good 
or bad weather alike, never knowing when they were 
to bring up at home again, and keeping Mrs. Davis in 
continual uncertainty as to her dinner-hour, to say noth- 
ing of her husband's fate. A familiar and picturesque 
figure was President Davis in the streets of Richmond 
from that day forth. From "Richmond Scenes in 
'62," published in " Battles and Leaders of the Civil 
War," I reproduce my sketch of him, which, since it 
was edited by my husband, I feel may be regarded as 
of some worth : 

"He might be seen daily walking through the Capitol 
Square from his residence to the executive office in the 
morning, not to return u.ntil late in the afternoon; or 
riding just before nightfall to visit one or another of the 
encampments near the city. He was tall, erect, slender, 
and of a dignified and soldierly bearing, with clear-cut 
and high-bred features, and of a demeanor of stately 
courtesy to all. He was clad always in Confederate 
gray cloth, and wore a soft felt hat with wide brim. 
Afoot, his step was brisk and firm; in the saddle he rode 
admirably and with a martial aspect. His early life 
had been spent in the Military Academy at West Point 
and upon the then north-western frontier in the Black 
Hawk War, and he afterward greatly distinguished him- 
self at Monterey and Buena Vista in Mexico; at the time 
when we knew him everything in his appearance and 
manner was suggestive of military training. He was re- 



72 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

ported to feel quite out of place in the office of President, 
with executive and administrative duties, in the midst of 
such a v^ar; General Lee always spoke of him as the 
best of military advisers; his own inclination was to be 
with the army, and at the first tidings of the sound of a 
gun, anywhere within reach of Richmond, he was in the 
saddle and off for the spot — to the dismay of his staff- 
officers, who never knew at what hour of the night or 
of the next day they should get back to bed or to a 
meal. 

The stories Burton Harrison told us of his adventures 
on such excursions were many, and sometimes amusing. 
For instance, w^hen General Lee crossed the Chicka- 
hominy. President Davis, with several staff-officers 
and his secretary, overtook the column, and, with the 
secretary of war and a few other non-combatants, 
forded the river just as the battle of Mechanicsville 
began. General Lee, surrounded by members of his 
own staff and other officers, was found a few hundred 
yards north of the bridge, in the middle of the broad 
road, mounted and busily engaged in directing the 
attack then about to be made by a brigade sweep- 
ing in line over the fields, to the east of the road 
and toward Ellerson's Mill, where in a few minutes 
a hot engagement commenced. Shot, from the en- 
emy's guns out of sight, went whizzing overhead in 
quick succession, striking every moment nearer the 
group of horsemen in the road as the gunners im- 
proved their range. General Lee observed the Presi- 
dent's approach, and was evidently annoyed at what he 
considered a foolhardy expedition of needless exposure 
of the head of the government, whose duties were else- 
where. He turned his back for a moment, until Colonel 
Chilton had been despatched at a gallop with the last 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 73 

direction to the commander of the attacking brigade; 
then, facing the cavalcade and looking like the god of 
war indignant, he exchanged with the President a salute, 
with the most frigid reserve of anything like welcome 
or cordiality. Then without allowance of opportun- 
ity for a word from the President, the general, look- 
ing not at him but at the assemblage at large, asked in a 
tone of irritation: 

"Who are all this army of people, and what are they 
doing here ?" 

No one moved or spoke, but all eyes were upon the 
President; everybody perfectly understood that this 
was an order for him to retire to a place of safety, 
while the roar of the guns, the rattling fire of musketry, 
and the bustle of a battle in progress, with troops con- 
tinually arriving across the bridge to go into action, 
went on. The President twisted in his saddle, quite 
taken aback at such a greeting — the general regarding 
him now with glances of growing severity. After a pain- 
ful pause the President said, deprecatingly: "It is not 
my army, General." "It certainly is not my army, Mr. 
President," was the prompt reply, "and this is no place 
for it" — in an accent of command. Such a rebuff was 
a stunner to Mr. Davis, who, however, soon regained 
his serenity and answered : 

"Well, General, if I withdraw, perhaps they will 
follow," and, raising his hat in another cold salute, he 
turned his horse's head to ride slowly toward the bridge 
— seeing, as he turned, a man killed immediately before 
him by a shot from a gun which at that moment got the 
range of the road. The President's own staff-officers 
followed him, as did various others; but he presently 
drew rein in a stream where the high bank and the 
bushes concealed him from General Lee's repelling ob- 



74 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

servation, and there remained while the battle raged. 
The Secretary of War had also made a show of withdraw- 
ing, but improved the opportunity afforded by rather 
a deep ditch on the roadside to conceal himself and his 
horse for a time from General Lee, who at that moment 
was more to be dreaded than the enemy's guns. 

In the Union raid on Columbia, S. C, in the spring of 
1865, Mr. Davis's best-known mount, a white Arabian, 
was captured with all the horses and mules belonging 
to General James Chestnut, to whose care the President 
had entrusted it. I find in my album a letter from Gen- 
eral Chestnut to the President, lamenting this occur- 
rence, and saying he ranked all his own losses as noth- 
ing beside that of the famous steed. 

About March i, 1862, martial law was proclaimed in 
Richmond, and from that time till the day of the evacu- 
ation we lived amid continually thrilling scenes. Now 
came the joyful tidings that my brother's ship, the 
cruiser Nashville, had successfully slipped through the 
blockading fleet off Beaufort, N. C, and that all on 
board were well. Her commander, the stately and gal- 
lant Captain Robert Pegram, welcomed with acclama- 
tion on his return to Richmond, came to call on us at 
the Clifton, and gave to our eager ears a synopsis of 
their stirring experiences since leaving Charleston in 
October. A few days later our midshipman walked in, 
looking taller, broader, and supremely happy to greet 
us all again. 

The Nashville, intended for the convoy of the Con- 
federate States commissioners, Mason and Slidell, but 
proving too big, had run the blockade from Charleston 
to Bermuda, coaled at Bermuda, and made a long voy- 
age of twenty-three days to Southampton, England. In 
the British Channel, off the Needles, they had burnt and 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 75 

sunk the American merchant-man, Harvey Birch, bring- 
ing her men, thirty in number, into Southampton, where 
they were set at hberty. This exploit and the discussion 
ensuing in the newspapers caused the Nashville to rise 
immediately into prominence in England. While they 
lay in port numberless visits were made to the ship. 
My brother, standing one day on the quay, saw ap- 
proaching him "a tall, distinguished-looking man, with 
a florid face and long smooth chin, whom I knew at 
once was 'somebody.'" This proved to be no less a 
personage than Lord Palmerston, Premier of England, 
who, on his way to visit the queen at Osborn House, 
had turned aside, unofficially, to make a call upon the 
commander of the famous Nashville. At his request, 
my brother took his card in to Captain Pegram, who 
immediately came out and conducted his lordship to 
his cabin, where he remained some time, an incident 
fortunately not getting into print. 

Some of the officers of the Nashville repaired at once, 
on leave, to London, others to Paris. My brother, in 
company with his close friend and fellow-midshipman, 
Irving Bullock, of Georgia (uncle of ex-President Roose- 
velt), ran up to London to see the sights, and two hap- 
pier lads could not have been found. Drawing their 
pay in gold, petted and welcomed by sympathetic Brit- 
ons, and having achieved the eclat of a notice in Punch, 
they described themselves as "living like fighting chick- 
ens generally." 

Irving Bullock was declared by his comrades to be 
"a tall, stalwart fellow, the best in the world, and a 
splendid officer." Long after the war, when Mr. Bul- 
lock, married to an English lady, was living in Liver- 
pool, he would make it a point whenever my brother 
crossed to England to come out on the tender and wel- 



76 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

come his old shipmate, literally with open arms, lift- 
ing Clarence off his feet in an exuberant embrace. His 
death was a sorrow to all who knew him. Mr. Cary 
has frequently talked of him to Colonel Roosevelt, 
who remembers his uncle with sincere affection and 
respect. 

London and all England was then under the pillar 
of cloud of the Prince Consort's death. An incident of 
the Nashville's stay at Southampton was the arrival 
of the Trerity having aboard the Confederate ladies of 
the commissioners' families. My brother had the op- 
portunity of hearing, at first hand, the version given by 
charming Miss Slidell of her adventure with our moth- 
er's first cousin, Lieutenant Donald Fairfax, U. S. N., 
the young officer sent aboard the Trent to remove the 
Confederate envoys, whom history has alleged to have 
been smitten in the face by this spirited and justly wroth 
young lady! When, in later years. Admiral Fairfax 
came to visit me at my summer home in Bar Harbor, we 
did not revert to those long-ago events. 

Another happening in port, was the embarcation, for 
service in Canada, of two crack regiments of the Royal 
Life Guards, whose officers exchanged entertainment 
and courtesies with those of the Confederate cruiser. 
When the two troop-ships finally sailed away, decks 
crowded, bands playing, colors flying, our midshipman 
decided that to be the most gallant spectacle seen in 
all his life. 

Very soon this holiday experience was to be exchanged 
for grim duty. The Queen having declared England 
to be neutral ground for the two opposing forces, the 
United States warship Tuscarora, tired of lying in wait 
outside for the coveted prize in harbor, came in to coal. 
While they were obliged to wait in port for twenty-four 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 77 

hours stipulated by international law, the NashvilUy 
hoisting what colors she could muster, sailed out to 
sea, and lost them their precious opportunity. The 
voyage, extremely bad from start to finish at Bermuda, 
was yet without encounter with the enemy. More than 
once, with broken machinery, both paddle-boxes stove 
in, starboard bulwark carried away, decks and houses 
continually under water, they almost gave up hope of 
reaching land. At Bermuda they coaled and repaired 
the ship. Starting for Fort Macon, at Beaufort, North 
Carolina, they captured and burnt a schooner, and at 
six o'clock on a Friday morning, in broad daylight, 
ran the blockade at that point by means of a ruse, fly- 
ing the private signal flag of the New York merchant 
firm, "SpofFord & Tileston," under the United States 

One of the blockading squadron, believing them to 
be the United States mail-boat, and thereby neglecting 
precautions, lowered a boat for mail. The Nashville, 
by that time inshore of her enemy, hauled down her false 
colors, ran up the stars and bars, and dashed for Fort 
Macon at a speed that made the old ship tremble at every 
jump. Immediately, but in vain, the blockader sent 
thirty shots after the fleeing cruiser, received with rapt- 
urous applause by several thousand Confederate sol- 
diers on the ramparts of the fort! 

In April my mother left Culpeper Court House to re- 
join me, and we removed from the coal, smoke, and 
gloom of the Clifton House to lodgings in Miss Clarke's 
pleasant home in Franklin Street, surrounded by a pretty 
garden and embowering trees. In Richmond the spring 
opens with a sudden glory of green leaves, magnolia 
blooms, and flowering shrubs. My cousins, Hetty and 



78 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Jennie, were with us under my mother's charge. We 
had rides into the surrounding country and walks in 
the woods bordering the river and canal. There was 
a brief interval of peace following the long winter of 
disaster and uncertainty. 

I had, at the request of Captain B. F. Eshleman, of 
the Washington Artillery of New Orleans, a body of 
admirable soldiers who had wakened to enthusiasm the 
daughters of Virginia, made for and sent to them an- 
other battle-flag. One morning an orderly arrived at 
Miss Clarke's, to say the battalion, on its march through 
Richmond, would pass the house at a given hour, and 
desired my presence at the front gate, that they might 
salute the donor of their flag. Punctual to the moment, 
we stood, a group of ladies, bareheaded under the 
canopy of green leaves above the sidewalk, I a little 
in advance, while the travel-stained battalion filed 
by us. My heart beat high with pride as the oflScers 
saluted with their swords, the band played " My Mary- 
land," the tired soldiers sitting on the caissons that 
dragged wearily through the muddy streets set up a 
rousing cheer; and there, in the midst of them, taking 
the April wind with daring, was my banner, dipping 
low until it passed me! 

These were no holiday soldiers. Their gold was tar- 
nished — their colors faded by sun and wind and gallant 
service — they were veterans on their way to the front, 
where the call of duty never failed to find the flower of 
Louisiana. 

In Captain William Miller Owen's spirited book, 
" In Camp and Battle With the Washington Artillery," 
occurs a passage describing the battalion as it went into 
battle at Malvern Hill, a short time after: "This is a 
supreme moment in the history of the Washington Ar- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 79 

tillery — the first time it ever moved in full armament, 
with its four batteries, to the battle-field. What a glo- 
rious sight! See the sixteen guns! What beauties — 
rifles and Napoleons taken from the enemy at Manassas 
and Seven Pines. Sixteen caissons — thirty-two car- 
riages in all — nearly three hundred men and two hun- 
dred horses. What a sight to gladden a soldier's eye! 
In front of all rides the colonel on his black stallion, 
' Rebel,' a pace behind rides the adjutant; then the 
chief bugler and the guidon-bearer carrying the little 
scarlet banner with the blue cross, the gift of Constance 
Cary. Just behind came the batteries, the captains 
riding in front of each." 

Mr. Sumpter Turner, of the Washington Artillery, 
writes, in 1908: "This flag, now in the arsenal at 
New Orleans, was the one we carried through the 
war." 

I went to a war-wedding at the Monumental Church 
on the site of that old-time tragedy, the burning of the 
Richmond Theatre, when Miss AdeHne Deane, a beauti- 
ful blonde, daughter of Dr. Deane, was married to Dr. 
Lyons. There was a reception afterward at Dr. Deane's 
house in Grace Street, crowded with rusty uniforms. A 
daughter of this couple is Mrs. Swanson, wife of the 
recent Governor of Virginia. 

On coming out of church one Sunday we heard the 
crushing news of the fall of New Orleans and of the 
capture of our iron-clads. The information coming 
from the lips of Mrs. Randolph, wife of our kinsman. 
General George Randolph, Secretary of War, was un- 
disputable. Mr. Jules de Saint Martin, of New Or- 
leans, brother-in-law of Mr. Benjamin, who was walk- 
ing with us, made no remark. 

"This must hit you hard," said some one to him. 



8o RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

"I am ruined, voila tout!" was the answer, with a 
characteristic gesture of throwing care to the winds. 

This debonair Httle gentleman was one of the great 
favorites in war society in Richmond. His cheery spirit, 
wit, and exquisite courtesy made friends for him every- 
where; and although his nicety of dress, after the Paris- 
ian style, was the subject of comment when he first ap- 
peared upon our streets, he joined the volunteers before 
Richmond and roughed it pluckily in the trenches as a 
private. Years after, M. de Saint Martin, calling on my 
mother and me in Paris, told a story of camp life in the 
freezing trenches, when on one occasion Colonel T, L. 
Bayne called him away from his place of bivouac on the 
ground to come with him, bidding him tell nobody, as 
he had found a spot where they could "sleep warm." 
Eagerly Saint Martin followed his guide to be intro- 
duced, in the wintry dark, to an enclosure full of snuf- 
fling, grunting creatures, among whom they lay down in 
oozing mud; it was a pigsty, nothing less, and there 
they slept till morning! " It is true that their noses dis- 
turbed me now and then," said the narrator, "but que 
voalez vous! I was freezing!" 

Now nothing was talked of but the capture of New 
Orleans. The stout spirit of the South had received its 
most telling blow! My brother, the midshipman, had 
just before this been ordered to what was considered one 
of the finest commands in the Confederate States navy 
— the new iron-clad Mississippi, then building in New 
Orleans, and expected to sweep the Northern coast. 
On the day before the United States fleet passed in to 
the taking of the forts, Clarence had been sent in charge 
of a boat-load of deserters and ordnance to a Confeder- 
ate States ship in the river. That day, "just for fun," as 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 8i 

he expressed it, he and another middy accompanied 
Lieutenant Reed, going on duty at Fort Jackson, under 
a hot fire of shelHng. While crossing the moat around 
the fort in a canoe, a 13-inch mortar shell fell near 
them, half filling their craft with water. No wonder 
the commandant of the fort, in greeting them, asked 
the two midshipmen, in vigorous terms, "What are 
you young fools doing here, anyway ?" They dodged 
about for a while in the bomb-proof casements, listening 
to the swift rush downward through the air of shells 
"that sounded as motor-cars do now" (says the pro- 
jector of this foolhardy expedition), and then pulled 
back against the fierce strength of the Mississippi cur- 
rent under the same fire, passing a wounded alligator, 
hit by a piece of shell. 

Aboard the steamship Star of the West (the vessel 
that drew the opening shots of the war at Charleston 
and which was seized off Indianola, Texas, in 1861, 
and was later sunk by the Confederates in the Yazoo, 
near Fort Pemberton), next day, saw my brother and 
other midshipmen in charge of six millions in gold 
and silver coin from the mints and banks of New 
Orleans, with three millions in paper money, over 
which their orders were to keep guard with drawn 
swords, hurrying away from doomed New Orleans, 
where along the levees burning ships and steamers 
and bales of cotton stretched in a fiery crescent. Had 
they delayed a day, they would all have been swept away 
in the enemy's resistless onslaught. Keeping just ahead 
of the enemy's fleet, they reached Vicksburg, thence 
went overland to Mobile, where their charge was de- 
livered up in safety, my brother returning to Richmond, 
where he was assigned by Secretary Mallory to the some- 
what light duty of aid to the secretary — "principally 



82 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

reading newspapers at the Navy Department and once 
escorting Mrs. Mallory to Drury's BlufF," as recorded by 
himself. 

We had come to the end of May, when the eyes of 
the whole continent turned toward Richmond. On the 
31st Johnston assaulted the Federals, who had ad- 
vanced to Seven Pines! It was so near that the first 
guns sent our hearts into our mouths, like a sudden loud 
knocking at one's door at night. The women left in 
Richmond had, with few exceptions, husbands, fathers, 
sons, and brothers in the fight. I have never seen a 
finer exhibition of calm courage than they showed in 
this baptism of fire. No one wept or moaned aloud. 
All went about their task of preparing for the wounded, 
making bandages, scraping lint, improvising beds. Night 
brought a lull in the frightful cannonading. We threw 
ourselves dressed upon our beds to get a little rest be- 
fore the morrow. 

During the night began the ghastly procession of 
wounded brought in from the field. Every vehicle the 
city could produce supplemented the military ambu- 
lances. Many slightly wounded men, so black with 
gunpowder as to be unrecognizable, came limping in 
on foot. All next day, women with white faces flitted 
bareheaded through the street and hospitals, looking for 
their own. Churches and lecture-rooms were thrown 
open for volunteer ladies sewing and filling the rough 
beds called for by the surgeons. There was not enough 
of anything to meet the sudden appalling call of many 
strong men stricken unto death. Hearing that my 
cousin, Reginald Hyde, was reported wounded, two of 
us girls volunteered to help his mother to search for 
him through the lower hospitals. We tramped down 
Main Street through the hot sun over burning pave- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 83 

ments, from one scene of horror to another, bringing up 
finally at the St. Charles Hotel, a large old building. 
What a sight met our eyes! Men in every stage of 
mutilation, lying waiting for the surgeons upon bare 
boards, with haversacks or army blankets, or nothing, 
beneath their heads. Some gave up the weary ghost 
as we passed them by. All were suffering keenly and 
needing ordinary attention. To be there empty-handed 
nearly broke our hearts. Bending down over bandaged 
faces stiff with blood and thick with flies, nothing did 
we see or hear of the object of our search, who, I am glad 
to say, arrived later at his mother's home, to be nursed 
by her to a speedy recovery. 

The impression of that day was ineffaceable. It left 
me permanently convinced that nothing is worth war! 

My mother was now in her element — expert, silent, 
incomparable as a nurse, she was soon on regular duty 
in an improvised hospital. I spent that night at the 
window of my room panting for fresh air, and longing 
to do something, anything, to help. The next day my 
friend, Emily Voss, and I had the pride and pleasure of 
having assigned to our care, under an older woman, two 
rooms containing fifteen wounded men lying on pallets 
around the floor. From that moment we were happier, 
although physically tried to the utmost. Gradually, 
some order came out of the chaos of overtasked hos- 
pital service. The churches gave their seat cushions to 
make beds; the famous old wine-cellars of private houses 
sent their priceless Madeira, port, sherry, and brandy; 
everybody's cook was set to turning out dainties, and 
for our own men we begged unblushingly until they 
were fairly well supplied. At night, carrying palm-leaf 
fans, we sauntered out into the streets scarcely less hot 
than in full sunshine. Once, literally panting for a fresh 



84 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

breath of air, a party of us went with an official of the 
Capitol up through the vapor bath of many steep stairs, 
to emerge on a little platform on the summit of the build- 
ing. There — oh ! joy — were actually breezes that brought 
relief. There we sat and looked down on the city that 
could not sleep, and talked, or listened to the voice of 
the river, that I seem to hear yet over the tramp of rusty 
battalions, the short, imperious stroke of the alarm bell, 
the clash of passing bands, the gallop of horsemen, the 
roar of battle, the moan of hospitals, the stifled note of 
sorrow — all the Richmond war sounds, sacred and un- 
forgettable. 

Day after day one heard the wailing dirge of mili- 
tary bands preceding a soldier's funeral. One could 
not number those sad pageants in our leafy streets: the 
coffin with its cap and sword and gloves, the riderless 
horse with empty boots in the stirrups of an army sad- 
dle! Such soldiers as could be spared from the front 
marching with arms reversed and crape-shrouded ban- 
ners, passers-by standing with bare bent heads. 

Funerals by night were common. A solemn scene 
was to be enacted in the July moonlight at Hollywood 
when they laid to rest my own uncle, Lieutenant Reg- 
inald Fairfax, of whom in the old service of the United 
States, as in that of the Confederate navy, it was said 
"he was a spotless knight." My uncle, who had com- 
manded a battery on the James, was prostrated by ma- 
larial fever and taken to Richmond, where he died at 
the Clifton House, tenderly nursed by his sisters. He 
was to my brother and me a second father. His prop- 
erty, fortunately so invested in Northern securities as to 
be unavailable during the war, was left between his three 
sisters, thereby enabling us, after peace was declared, to 
resume a life of comfort, when many of our Confederate 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 85 

friends were in absolute want. My other uncle, Doctor 
Fairfax, of Alexandria, had, in the abundance of his be- 
lief in the Confederacy, put all of his fortune into Con- 
federate bonds, and suffered a total loss of it. 

A personal incident of the fight of Seven Pines was 
a visit during that morning from a young officer, sent 
into town from the battle-field with important despatches 
to the President. Whilst awaiting the reply, he came, 
with his orderly in attendance, to say a word to me, 
and as I stood with him at our garden gate the cannon- 
ading suddenly increased tremendously. 

" That's my place, not this. If I don't come out of 
it, remember I tried to do my duty," he said with a 
hasty handshake, and springing into his saddle, the 
horse rearing fiercely, he waved his cap and spurred 
away, the orderly clattering after him. It was the last 
time I ever saw him. In one of the battles of July he 
fell, leading his men in a splendid charge, and in him 
many bright hopes and a noble future were extinguished. 



CHAPTER V 

BEFORE the seven days' battles in front of Rich- 
mond were deHvered, my mother insisted upon 
my going with my aunt to Botetourt Springs, in 
the south-western hill country of Virginia, in a region 
that seemed to our strained and weary gaze, to our ears 
jaded with sounds of battle and hospital, akin to para- 
dise. Leaving the train, we drove in an archaic stage- 
coach through a fertile valley betvv^een bluest moun- 
tains, under summer skies with little silver clouds afloat 
"on the broad field of heaven's bright wilderness." At 
the wayside hamlets where we stopped to water horses, 
stolid country folk asked vague questions about the 
''fighting down Richmond way," more interested in the 
non-arrival of a jug of molasses or a sack of meal than 
in the issue of the battles. When we arrived at our 
destination, a young heart in spite of itself rebounded 
from dreadful pressure. I felt like a bird that has flown 
through storm-clouds to rest in some leaf-protected nest. 
What joy to lie down at night without fear of being 
awakened by shot or shell or rattle of musketry, or by 
summons to the window to hear of a casualty to a friend 
or relative — to get up to idle days of rambling in the 
woods, of freedom from surroundings of mangled and 
fevered humanity one was powerless to save! 

Such, at least, should have been my attitude of mind. 
As a fact, after a few days' absence from Richmond I 
longed madly, wildly, to be back again. News pene- 
trated to us but grudgingly. We wrested it piecemeal 

86 



RECOLLFXTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 87 

from the slow speech of passing stage-drivers, and from 
weekly newspapers. We lived from mail to mail. 

No privilege on earth seemed so great as sharing sor- 
row with those we loved. From a wounded cousin, who 
arrived on furlough, we heard of the fall in battle of 
General Turner Ashby, "the stainless, fearless hero," 
as President Davis called him; of whom General Stone- 
wall Jackson wrote in his report of the cavalry combat: 
"As a partisan officer, I never knew his superior. His 
daring was proverbial ; his power of endurance inex- 
haustible; his tone of character heroic; and his sagacity 
almost intuitive in divining the purposes and move- 
ments of the enemy." 

From childhood I had heard tales of the dashing 
and hard-riding Turner Ashby, of Fauquier, and had 
felt proud when he said nice things to me once at the 
Fauquier White Sulphur Springs. All the men in our 
family knew and lamented him. He was like one of 
the old-time warriors, born not made. 

Of that summer of sorrow I recall one bright epi- 
sode — a ride on horseback of seventy miles, to and from 
the Natural Bridge of Virginia, with a stop on the way 
at the handsome old mansion of the Andersons, where 
our party was hospitably entertained. We felt that in 
that blest abode of peaceful plenty war could not pene- 
trate; yet, in the next year, the house was burnt and 
the whole beautiful region surrounding it laid waste by 
the firebrand. General Hunter, in his retreat before 
Early and Breckinridge. 

Our road lay between a succession of noble views of 
hill and dale, the weather was perfect, and the before- 
mentioned spirits of youth overflowed happily. We 
rode races, jumped hurdles, improvised tourneys, spear- 
ing at a ring of plaited willow hung upon a bough. I 



88 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

wonder if a girl of to-day would believe that in addition 
to a haversack with necessaries of the toilet strapped to 
my saddle, I carried, hidden under the folds of a long, 
ample riding skirt, a mysterious parcel like a cage col- 
lapsed and twisted into a figure 8 — the hoop-skirt, 
without which no self-respecting female of that day 
ventured to appear, save on horseback! 

We were upon the Natural Bridge without knowing 
it, of course, and I needs must alarm our party out of 
its wits by emulating a certain venturesome cousin, and 
old sweetheart of my father's, Mary Chapman, handed 
down in local story as having stood waving her hand- 
kerchief on the cut-ofF stump of a tree projecting above 
the precipice. This lady was grandmother of the lovely 
Ella, Marquise de Podestad, renowned for her charm 
and beauty in Washington and Madrid, who in her later 
days became lady in waiting to ex-Queen Isabella of 
Spain, and died at Biarritz after a life of many sorrows. 

On our return from this expedition we heard of the 
renewal of fighting before Richmond. My aunt heard, 
too, of the alarming illness of her brother Reginald, in 
Richmond. She was eager to go to him, and as to our 
convalescent colonel, wild horses could not have bound 
him to remain! I, only, was left under care of the prin- 
cipal of the HoUins Institute and his kind family. How 
I begged to go back with the others! 

Next came the awful battle week — seven days of furi- 
ous fighting close to the gates of Richmond. During 
the battle of Mechanicsville, the President and many of 
the cabinet, with hundreds of spectators, watched its 
progress from the encircling hills. The roofs of the 
high buildings in the town were also crowded with look- 
ers-on, and the enemy's balloons were plainly visible 
hovering over the field. After dark that night, the firing 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 89 

still went on, and numbers of people saw the magnificent 
sight of bombs bursting in air and the flash of thousands 
of muskets, accompanied by the incessant roar of ar- 
tillery. To go home from such a spectacle was to seek 
a bed, but not to sleep, and dawn next day brought a re- 
newal of the terrible experience, while the streets were 
again and again filled with ambulance trains, the result 
of the day before. 

And now a great paean of gratitude went up to Gen- 
eral Lee, acclaimed as the savior of Richmond from 
destruction, the supreme leader to whom all eyes turned 
for protection from our foe. My family letters were 
full of pride that our old neighbor at Arlington had 
thus risen to the forepeak of glory in the Confederacy. 
Every one, too, was talking of the wonders of Stonewall 
Jackson's generalship; the two great Virginians seemed 
to be riding on a wave of popular glory. 

We chafed at absence from the centre of all interest. 
Had not Commodore Sydney Smith Lee, our midship- 
man's chief in the Navy Department, sent my brother 
to me to recruit after an attack of malarial fever, I could 
hardly have borne the strain, as news of my uncle Regi- 
nald's death came at the same time. Then my mother 
gave herself a brief rest. Worn out with grief and nurs- 
ing, with new lines in her sweet face, and eyes full of 
unshed tears, she came to her children. Nothing seemed 
hopeless after that! 

When it was certain that our boys were marching 
across the border into Maryland, and that, save for my 
brother on sick leave, every male creature belonging to 
our numerous "Connection" was in the advance, what 
wonder that we strained at the leash of patience till it 
burst. No longer able to endure peace in Botetourt, 
back we all went to hot, dusty, uncomfortable Rich- 



90 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

mond. There we found all thoughts fixed on Maryland, 
all hearts dilating proudly with oft-repeated tales of 
victory to our arms. Letters drifted to us telling of the 
hardships of the march; of subsistence on a diet of 
parched corn, or corn plucked and eaten raw as did the 
disciples theirs, of old; of bare feet; of burning thirst 
quenched by lapping from roadside pools and cow- 
tracks; of ragged clothes and dirt intolerable, borne until 
some blessed stream or river gave them a chance to dip. 

Many of these privates in the ranks were mothers' 
darlings, hitherto lapped in the luxury of lavish South- 
ern homes — numbers of them just ready to enter the 
university. One of his comrades told us of the young- 
est son of the commanding general, a private in the Rock- 
bridge Artillery, at the battle of Sharpsburg, where his 
battery had suffered from having three guns disabled 
and losing many men and horses. Having but one 
gun left, they were ordered out of the fight. Coming 
unexpectedly upon General Lee and his aide, the gen- 
eral looked at first with unrecognizing eyes upon the 
smoke-stained goblin who revealed himself his son. 
Upon hearing that their remnant was ordered again to 
the front for duty, young Lee protested: "Why, Gen- 
eral, you are not going to send us in again .?" 

**Yes, my son," he answered smiling, "you must all 
do what you can to help to drive those people back." 

Another incident, told in a soldier's letter, was when 
Private Robert E. Lee, shabby and travel-worn, ap- 
peared at the commanding general's head-quarters bare- 
footed, carrying in his hand the ragged remnant of a 
pair of shoes. "I only wanted to ask, sir, if I might 
draw a new pair, as I can't march in these." 

"Have the men of your company received permission 
to draw shoes yet?" asked the general. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 91 

"No, sir; I believe not yet." 

"Then go back to your battery, my boy, and wait 
until they have." 

After recording these anecdotes, I received a visit at 
Belvoir House, Virginia, from Captain Robert E. Lee 
(strongly resembling his illustrious father) with his wife 
and little girl, Ann Carter Lee. He says the Rock- 
bridge Artillery stories are in the main true. He doesn't 
remember about the shoes, but it might well have been. 
What he does recall, and has told in his own most inter- 
esting book about General Lee, was once when, after 
one of the battles before Richmond, black with dirt and 
smoke, he had crawled under his caisson on the open 
battle-field, trying to get a sleep, some fellow poked him 
awake with a sponge-stick and said: "Come out o' 
that, will you! Here's somebody wants to see you!" 

On emerging, he was confronted by General Lee, in 
speckless full uniform, mounted upon his charger and 
surrounded by his staff with some distinguished for- 
eign visitors. Again the general did not recognize the 
begrimed being who modestly presented himself, but 
when he did so a loving smile broke over his face and he 
spoke to him cheerily, saying he had ridden by to see if 
he were safe and was glad he was well through it! 

Captain Lee tells me it required some nerve to meet 
the curious glances bestowed upon him by all those clean 
and well-equipped people! 

If of such stuff the leader, what of the troops ? Such 
stories, passed from lip to lip on bivouac, or written home 
to anxious parents, did a world of good in heartening 
those who had to bear the same hardships. 

The tale of the Maryland campaign had about it a 
dash and daring peculiarly attractive to young minds. 



92 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Our blood coursed hot in answer to the news of Stone- 
wall Jackson's repulse of Banks at Cedar Mountain; 
of Jeb Stuart's wonderful raid, circling the entire Fed- 
eral army; of Jackson's capture of Union stores at Ma- 
nassas; of the bloody battles of Groveton, second Bull 
Run, and Chantilly. 

During their two hundred miles of march in one short 
month, fighting and skirmishing continually, our friends 
went barefooted, or with their feet in raw cowhides, liv- 
ing on half rations, but their letters bore no complaint. 
Had not their beloved General Lee said to them: "His- 
tory records few examples of greater fortitude and en- 
durance than this army has exhibited." After that, 
what did little things matter ? 

About one of my own nearest of kin, young Ran- 
dolph Fairfax, private in the Rockbridge Artillery in this 
campaign, his friend and messmate, now the Rev. 
Lancelot Blackford, head-master of the Episcopal High 
School in Fairfax County, wrote: 

"I have seen him when detailed as teamster from the 
15th of July to the last of August, after a fatiguing day's 
march and just as we were about to go to rest, called up 
to go in the dark for forage to feed his teams. He bore all 
exacting duties such as watering, feeding, currying and 
harnessing horses with such equanimity and sweetness 
as to strike his associates. The point on which officers 
and men chiefly agreed in admiring Fairfax was his un- 
swerving devotion to duty whether in camp or in action. 
Members of the company would remark with emphasis, 
'What a good soldier Fairfax is !' " The quality of men 
in action under whip and spur of a certain animal ex- 
citement does not always bear the fine test of such ex- 
perience as this; I cite it as illustrating a phase of war 
life on the Southern side necessarily overshadowed in 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 93 

history by the conspicuous achievements of the leaders. 
In John Codman Ropes's splendid ''Story of the Civil 
War" I find the following: 

"The population (of the Southern States), almost 
wholly occupied in agricultural pursuits, was necessarily 
accustomed to life in the open air, to horses, to hunting 
and fishing, to exposure, to unusual physical exertion 
from time to time. Such conditions of life naturally 
foster a martial spirit. Then the aristocratic regime 
which prevailed in the slave-holding States was con- 
ducive to that preference of military over civil pursuits 
which has generally been characteristic of aristocracies. 
The young men of the better classes eagerly embraced 
the profession of arms as offering by far the noblest op- 
portunities for the exercise of the higher virtues, and 
for allowing the greatest distinction in the State. . . . 
Endowed with a marvellous capacity of endurance, 
whether of physical exertion or lack of food, uncom- 
plaining, ever ready for a fight, the soldiers of the South 
were first-rate material in the hands of the able officers 
who so generally commanded them. ... It cannot be 
doubted that the Southern volunteers frequently scored 
successes over their Northern adversaries for the simple 
and sole reason that to them, the game of war, was not 
only a perfectly legitimate pursuit, but one of the no- 
blest, if not the noblest that could claim the devotion of 
brave and free men. They went into it con amove; they 
gave to its duties their most zealous attention; and they 
reaped a full measure of the success which those who 
throw themselves with all their hearts into any career 
deserve and generally attain." 

We were in Richmond when that desperate fight was 
fought at Antietam, of which a war historian has written, 
"It is likely that more men were killed and wounded 



94 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

on the 17th of September than on any single day in the 
whole war." Twelve thousand men killed on each side! 
Twenty-four thousand of the hope of the great conti- 
nent, the joy of their homes. North and South, left dead 
upon a single battle-field! 

By this time, in some degree keyed up to endurance 
of the repeated shocks of war, we went quietly about our 
tasks of daily life. Except for the numbers of people 
swathed in black met in its thoroughfares, Richmond 
showed little trace of its battle summer. As yet the 
pinch of the times did not greatly affect the home com- 
missariat, although we refugees had to be satisfied with 
simple living in other people's rooms, since a whole 
house to ourselves could not be thought of. When 
asked into private houses we found tables laid, as of old, 
with shining silver and porcelain and snowy damask, al- 
though the bill of fare was unpretending. The custom 
of giving the best of everything to the hospitals went 
on till the end of the war. Society was reinforced by 
a number of agreeable and high-bred women from all 
parts of the South, many of whom had previously graced 
a wider social sphere in Europe and America. Its pe- 
culiar attraction lay in the total absence of pretence. 
People thus bound by a common tie of interest and poig- 
nant sympathy tolerated no assumption of superior 
fashion in any of their number. In such an atmosphere 
flourishes best the old-fashioned grace of neighborli- 
ness. To the very last, each refugee family shared what 
it had with the other; while Richmond folk threw open 
their broad, delightful homes to receive their friends, 
with or without gastronomic entertainment; lent furni- 
ture to those in need, and sent dainty little dishes to the 
sick. All rejoiced in each other's joys, grieved with each 
other's griefs. Hardships in such company were light- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 95 

ened of their weight. Sorrows so shared were easier to 
bear. 

From our midshipman, now aboard the receiving- 
ship Indian Chief, in Charleston harbor, came a stir- 
ring account of a night of mutiny aboard, due to the 
crew breaking into the spirit-room and possessing them- 
selves of its contents, then going mad with drink. For 
a time the officers kept the drunken brutes in order with 
their cutlasses ; several were wounded, some fell down a 
hatchway, breaking legs and arms, and then the rest were 
secured. Next morning the ship presented a singular 
appearance, prisoners in bonds on all sides, decks en- 
cumbered with seamen bucked and gagged, and the rig- 
ging freely adorned with men triced by their thumbs! 

Next, our lad was transferred to the "Ladies' gun- 
boat," the gift of the women of Charleston to the Con- 
federate States Government, an iron-clad carrying four 
guns, called Palmetto State — an experience of bitter 
cold, in November weather with no fires aboard. Later 
in the winter Palmetto State went outside Charleston 
bar, in company with the C. S. S. Chickamauga, and 
attacked the blockading fleet. In their "metallic 
coffin," they ran up toward the U. S. S. Mercedita, in 
the dim light of early morning, and rammed her with 
their bow. "A crash, a smash, a broadside" — so runs 
the letter I copy here — "and the Mercedita surrendered, 
sinking. We had a running fight all day, but slipped 
away unharmed, and came back by Fort Sumter and 
Fort Moultrie, receiving their salutes." That night 
Charleston could not make enough of her defenders! 

In December, 1862, Fredericksburg was fought. In 
that notable victory to Confederate arms our family 
met with an irreparable loss. My uncle's son, Ran- 
dolph Fairfax, aged eighteen, a private in the ranks, fell 



96 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

beside his gun and was buried by his comrades after 
dark upon the spot. This youth, handsome and gifted, 
serious and purposeful beyond his years, the flower of 
his school and college, in all things worthy the traditions 
of his warlike ancestry, was killed by a piece of shell 
entering the brain, as he stood by his gun at sunset un- 
der a hot fire from the enemy's batteries. A day or 
two later his body, still wrapped in his soldier's blanket, 
was disinterred and brought through freezing weather 
to Richmond, where he was placed, uncoffined, on a 
bier before the altar in St. James's Church. An ever 
fresh memory is that of the sweet and noble face so 
unchanged, after tv^^o days' burial. Save for the cruel 
mark on the temple made by the piece of shell, and the 
golden curls matted with the clay of his rude sepulchre, 
he might have been asleep. He wore still the coarse 
flannel shirt, stained with battle smoke, in which he fell, 
and across him was thrown the blanket that had been 
his winding-sheet. When it was proposed to my uncle 
that the body be dressed again, he answered: 

"No. Let my son sleep his long sleep as he fell at 
the post of duty." And thus, his cofl^n draped with 
the flag he had died for, Randolph Fairfax was borne to 
his rest in Hollywood. From camp at Fredericksburg, 
on December 28th, General Lee wrote to my uncle the 
words that follow: 

" I have grieved most deeply at the death of your noble 
son. I have watched his conduct from the commence- 
ment of the war and have pointed with pride to the patri- 
otism, self-denial and manliness of character he has ex- 
hibited. I had hoped that an opportunity would have 
occurred for the promotion he deserved; not that it 
would have elevated him, but have shown that his de- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 97 

votion to duty was appreciated by his country. Such an 
opportunity would undoubtedly have occurred; but he 
has been translated to a better world, for which his 
purity and piety have eminently fitted him. You do 
not require to be told how great his gain. It is the liv- 
ing for whom I sorrow. I beg you will offer to Mrs. 
Fairfax and your daughters, my heartfelt sympathy, for 
I know the depth of their grief. That God may give 
you and them strength to bear this great affliction, is 
the earnest prayer of your early friend. 

"R. E. Lee." 

Our stricken family, like many another, felt how 
nobly the great leader helped to bind up the wounds of 
war by words like those! 

General Lee certainly united extraordinary qualities. 
I think it was Sir Walter Scott who somewhere said: 
"My voice shall be for that general who will possess 
those qualities which are necessary to command men 
like us. High born he must be or we shall lose our 
rank in obeying him — wise and skillful, or we shall en- 
danger the safety of our people — bravest of the brave, 
or he shall peril our own honour; temperate, firm and 
manly, to keep us united. Such is the man to command 
us!" He might have added, "gentle as a woman in 
conveying sympathy." 

In the latter part of February, 1863, it became neces- 
sary for either my mother or my aunt to carry to Wash- 
ington certain papers connected with the inheritance 
coming to them from the estate of their late brother, in 
order to secure much-needed provision for the clouded 
and uncertain future of their families. After some de- 
bate it was decided that Mrs. Hyde should be the one 



98 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

to go; and I, with the love of adventure coursing through 
my veins, induced them to let me accompany my aunt. 
I should never allow a girl of my own to do it, assuredly 
— but ''autre temps, autre moeurs" — and then, I knew 
not fear. 

Bidding farewell to those friends in Richmond who 
looked upon us as predestined to a Northern prison, we 
went first to stop with our friends, the owners of Belpre, 
near Culpeper, not far from the winter-quarters of Gen- 
eral Fitzhugh Lee's division of cavalry. Here we re- 
mained while casting about us for ways and means to 
cross the border and get into Alexandria. Not only 
were the chances of war in favor of our capture on the 
way — that did not appall us, since we were intent strictly 
on private business — but from every side came gloomy 
tales of swollen rivers, deserted villages, a war-ravaged 
country liable to forays from prowling vagabonds of 
either army, and the likelihood of running upon a skir- 
mish at any moment. Worst of all, it seemed impossible 
to hire a conveyance. 

Waiting, however, in a pleasant country house near 
the head-quarters of a crack cavalry division, with a 
dozen gallant knights ready to do one's lightest bidding, 
had its endurable side. There were visits to and from 
camp; rides, shooting-matches — "General Fitz " pre- 
senting me with a tiny Smith and Wesson revolver capt- 
ured by himself, which he taught me to wear and use 
— and, at evening, gatherings around the big wood fire 
at Belpre, when we laughed and talked and sang . . . ! 

At this distance of time, it is not telling tales out of 
school to say that the leader of fun in those evenings 
was the major-general commanding, future governor of 
the commonwealth of Virginia, and years later a trusted 
chief of the United States forces in the Spanish-Ameri- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 99 

can war. One was as sure of jollity and good-fellowship 
in "General Fitz" off duty as of soldierly dash tem- 
pered by the wisdom of a born leader when in action. 

It is pleasant to note that to the last of his varied 
soldierly experience this General Lee retained the wide 
measure of popularity with the masses that had always 
been his portion. It was observed that during the prog- 
ress of the procession at President Cleveland's inaugu- 
ration ceremonies, General Fitzhugh Lee, riding a 
magnificent horse, provided for his use by a loyal old 
friend, a citizen of Alexandria, was more continuously 
applauded when passing down the lines than any other 
person present saving the hero of the day; and this was 
apt to be the case in all his public appearances. 

One day, when returning from a visit to a friend, I 
rode from Culpeper Court House to Belpre with the 
general, a darky sent ahead on mule-back, detailed to 
carry my other hat and dressing-bag, a very demon of 
mischief entered into my escort. In a wood road, where 
no one could see him, he rode standing in the saddle, 
picking dried wayside flowers at a gallop, backward, 
forward, in every attitude that man can assume upon 
a steed, while forcing my horse to keep pace with his 
"stunts," as he called them, acquired in his old army 
life upon the plains. Presently, espying our Mercury, 
despatched some time before, slowly jogging down the 
narrow road ahead of us, he put spurs to his horse, 
uttered an Indian war-whoop, and bore down upon him 
at a run. The negro, terrified by the onslaught, not 
stopping to inquire into its nature, lashed his mule and 
setoff like the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow, I, 
overpowered with laughter, left far behind. 

Looking around us for an opportunity of entering 
the Union lines at Fairfax, we heard of a lady living at 



loo RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

some distance from Culpeper who had the same end in 
view as ours. To visit this lady and propose joining 
forces and sharing expenses in the expedition, it was 
necessary to ride twelve miles across country as the crow 
flies, for which purpose General Fitz Lee offered me his 
mare, Refugitta — a beautiful high-spirited little creature 
I had ridden several times before — and the escort of his 
aid and cousin, Major Robert Mason. We set off in 
high feather on a sunshiny morning of February, but 
were overtaken by a tremendous storm of wind and rain, 
changing to snow, when remote from any possibility 
of shelter, in a desolate part of the country, all fences 
gone, a deserted negro cabin here and there the only 
sign of past habitation. Very soon my habit was wet 
through, my gloves were clinging to fingers so cold I 
could hardly hold the bridle. When Major Mason, 
himself looking like a young Father Christmas, finally 
insisted that I should get down for a while and walk, 
to restore circulation, I slipped like a log from my 
saddle, so stiff that my members refused to do their 
office. The short cape and military gauntlets of my 
comrade had already been forced upon me. 

Thus equipped, we tramped back and forth, beneath 
a grove of pines, till the fury of the gale was spent. By 
and by the wind lessened, the snow fell sparsely, and 
we resumed our saddles. Soon, over on the slope of a 
near-by mountain, we descried a large farm-house with 
■ — oh! joy — a blue curl of smoke issuing from the chim- 
ney. Making all speed, we reached the goal, which, 
indeed, proved to be the dwelling we were in search of. 
Never have a big wood fire, hot drinks, food, and a rest 
between blankets, while my habit was dried, seemed 
such a boon to me! To my disappointment, I found 
that the mistress of the house had already set out "to 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY loi 

run the blockade," and that she would have been "only 
too glad" of our company. I will not aver that the 
twelve miles of ride home that day was not a trial to 
my endurance. My comrade, a hardened cavalryman, 
said afterward that he spent his time wondering if 
girls were not of tougher build than men. I should have 
died of shame to confess how often I longed to break 
down and say I couldn't stand it a minute longer. Hap- 
pily, after a good night's rest, I was none the worse for 
my expedition. 

At last General Fitz Lee told my aunt that from the 
report of scouts he could venture to send us in a head- 
quarters ambulance, with a guard of picked men, as far 
as Warrenton. Our families being so closely allied in 
friendship for many a year, he felt and appreciated the 
importance of our mission, and most kindly desired to 
furnish the transfer to Riggs's Bank, in Washington, of 
the papers my aunt carried upon her person. 

To Mrs. Hyde was apportioned a split-bottomed chair 
in a comfortable ambulance drawn by the best mules at 
head-quarters. To me was again allotted my favorite 
" Refugitta," the general and several staff-officers form- 
ing a gay cortege of escort for a certain distance on our 
way, and Major Mason put in charge of the expedition. 
It was a brilliant, cloudless day in late February, with a 
promise of spring in the air, when we set out. Long 
before reaching Hazel River, our first crossing of a risky 
ford, the general and his aides had taken leave, after 
wishing us a hearty bon voyage. On the banks of 
Hazel River, an angry, turbid little stream, boiling be- 
tween red clay banks, we were obliged to possess our 
souls in patience for half a day, waiting until it was safe 
to attempt a crossing for the ambulance. Beyond the 
swelling flood we were to meet somewhere the escort of 



102 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

twenty-five cavalrymen, assigned to guard us into War- 
renton and sent on the day before to see that the way was 
clear. In the society of a garrulous miller and his 
spouse, who told many weird tales of skirmishes around 
them during the past months, we remained till after- 
noon, when the miller announced that though it was 
"still a leetle resky for wimmin folks crossin'," he 
" reckoned we mout try." 

Consigned to a chair in the ambulance, on which I 
was glad enough to climb and crouch before the end, 
we began the passage of the Red Sea. Major Mason 
and his orderly, kneeling in their saddles, rode by the 
heads of our mules, tugging and adjuring them. At 
one point both mules and horses became lost to sight, 
save for their heads, brave little Refugitta following 
the orderly. A sticky fluid lapped around our feet. 
Shouts rent the air. A sort of hurricane of strong lan- 
guage burst from our united protectors. Our mules 
were swimming. 

Perched on our chairs, trying not to listen to the 
"music in the air," we at last felt our wheels grate upon 
a pebbly bottom. A long, strong tug, accompanied by 
more language, and we were safe, if moist, upon a miry 
bank! "You've jist got to coax a muel," said our 
driver blandly, turning in his seat. 

"Is that the way you coax in the Army of Northern 
Virginia V we asked, looking around rebukingly on the 
chief guardian of our party. But he was mysteriously 
absent, and did not show again till ready to help me 
upon Refugitta's back. Bounding along in a swift, 
even gallop over a smooth wood road, we spoke in under- 
tones, for we were now on debatable ground, where no 
one knew what an hour might bring forth in the way of a 
"surprise. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 103 

Approaching Jefferson town, a poor deserted hamlet 
where we w^ere to pass the night, the major halted 
the convoy while he rode forward to investigate. It 
was too dark to distinguish faces. From a forsaken 
smithy upon a little knoll, we saw issue two or three 
military figures, showing black against a streak of yel- 
low lingering in the western sky. Simultaneously, a 
challenge, an answer, and a cheer! It was our body- 
guard on bivouac, waiting, uncertain as to the cause of 
our delay. They surrounded and preceded us, as we 
went hopefully forward to the sleeping-quarters they 
had secured in a dwelling not far off. To the ladies a 
bedroom was given, the major had another, while the 
escort slept on their arms in the hallway below. 

The family owning the house were ardent secession- 
ists, who made us welcome to their best. Two nights 
before, they had less willingly provided refreshment for 
a party of Union cavalry. One could never tell, they 
said, when the blue-coats might ride up, or when the gray. 
Not a sound, however, broke the silence of that wintry 
night. When we came down, next morning, it was to 
find a snapping fire of logs, around which gathered, in 
cheerful sunshine, a circle of tall, bearded fellows, who 
rose up and stood smiling at our approach. A good 
country breakfast of " hog and hominy, " with hot coffee, 
had already been served to them. While the same fare, 
w^th corn-dodgers, was being prepared for us, we made 
individual acquaintance with our manly guards. 

Off again, over ground every inch of which knew the 
ring of troopers' steel and the clash of sudden conflict. 
Two scouts preceding, the rest formed into a double 
line, I riding midway with the major, the ambulance fol- 
lowing. Snow began to fall, and the deep woods were 
transformed into a fairy-land of beauty, powdered 



I04 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

branches meeting overhead, a white mantle resting 
Hghtly underfoot upon the carpet of last year's leaves 
and moss. If there were a fallen branch ahead of 
me, a dozen hands were stretched out to remove it. 
A big, rough trooper rode up and begged me to put 
over my wet gloves the woolen mittens his wife had knit 
for him at home. There was no wind, and I did not 
mind the snow. Never would I have exchanged this 
royal progress for the tame comfort of the inside of the 
ambulance. 

"One mo' ribber for to cross!" sang out somebody 
ahead, and this time I begged to keep on my saddle, 
effecting successfully the passage of a chafing stream. 
Nearing Warrenton, we left the warm shelter of the 
woods for a turnpike road, where every movement must 
be one of caution. Our men, alert, speechless, eager, 
did not relax their vigilance till one of the scouts, rid- 
ing back at a gallop, announced the way free into the 
village. 

Clattering up to the door of the hotel, we found rooms 
and supper. To my sorrow, our escort was dispersed 
into the countryside to seek quarters less exposed. 
And now, a long farewell to all our greatness! Into 
thin air melted the pageant of the days before. 
Vanished our plumed cavaliers, our bounding steeds, 
our mules and equipage! Henceforward we must en- 
counter for ourselves the perils of the road, stealing like 
marauders into our own county, where our people had 
been rooted like the oaks around their homes. 

We hired a country cart of the old-time hooded vari- 
ety, wherein, drawn by mules and enthroned on straw, 
we made creeping progress toward Centreville. On the 
road we passed a tired woman carrying her baby, a cry- 
ing child tugging at her skirts, driven by starvation, she 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 105 

said, to go inside the Union lines. We naturally picked 
them up, and the hours that followed were hardly cheer- 
ful. Sleeping at a poor farm-house that night, we awoke 
to find a party of Federal soldiers ringed around it, who 
proceeded to search the premises. When we got down- 
stairs the officer in charge was waiting at the breakfast- 
table. Although they were in pursuit of some one more 
important, it was necessary for him to know who we 
were and what our business there. "Property owners 
in Fairfax County, going to their home on matters of 
private business," did not seem to suffice him as an ex- 
planation. We must come with him to report at United 
States head-quarters in Centreville. 

Lacking other means of advance, we then hired the 
only vehicle of the establishment, a pole on four wheels, 
drawn by two oxen; and balanced upon this, our trunks 
bound on somehow by the depressed Confederate sym- 
pathizer who drove us, a bayonetted guard walking on 
either side, we superbly entered the village of Centre- 
ville. At head-quarters the officials in charge made a 
thoroughly conscientious effort to penetrate our dis- 
guise of innocence and stamp us guilty, but the case 
baffled them. A full examination of our luggage failed 
to develop anything save the fact that Confederate prin- 
ciples were antagonistic in a marked degree to the theory 
of personal adornment. In the perplexity of the situa- 
tion, they decided to send us on as prisoners of war to 
Brigadier-General Hayes, stationed at Union Mills, 
on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, whence, they 
said, parties of "refugees from the rebel lines" were 
daily expedited to Alexandria. 

The bitter cold drive of six miles to Union Mills in 
a little open trap, plunging up and down in deep ruts of 
frozen clay cut by army wagons in a heavy soil, or go- 



io6 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

ing at a snail's pace between six stolid Germans, hold- 
ing their bayonets as they marched on either side of us, 
was actually the most painful experience of our ad- 
venture. My aunt, with her stately figure and beautiful 
clear profile, in her mourning garb, sitting so calm and 
self-controlled amid her strange surroundings, reminded 
me of some grande dame of the French Revolution go- 
ing in a tumbril to execution. For nothing in the world 
would she have condescended to make a complaint; we 
had deliberately placed ourselves in this situation, and 
must make the best of it! 

Ahead of us were several wagons loaded up with 
country refugees, Germans and Irish, going to Washing- 
ton to take oath of allegiance and seek for better fort- 
unes. One of these vehicles, piled high with house- 
hold goods, upset, and there were wails from the women 
and children belonging to it, though nobody was badly 
hurt. While waiting for them to clear the road, we 
sufi'ered intensely with the cold, arriving finally at 
Union Mills so thoroughly congealed it was hard to set 
our feet upon terra firma. 

Stumbling to the ground, we paid our driver and 
were shown into a room heated to suffocation by a red- 
hot stove, and crowded with the unhappy "refugees,'* 
men, women, and children, who had arrived ahead of 
us, all nearly perishing of cold and fatigue. We gave 
but one glance into the interior and turned away sick- 
ened by the noxious atmosphere, to meet a smart young 
staff-officer who, with the most astonished face I ever 
saw, could not for the life of him understand what we 
two were doing there! 

Ten minutes later, seated before a bright fire in the 
officers' quarters above, we were kindly and courteously 
urged to partake of hot coffee, which we accepted, and 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 107 

champagne, which we refused. How long it had been 
since we had seen champagne! 

A room, hastily made ready, contained two army cots, 
gayly striped blankets, tin basins set upon a bench, de- 
licious toilet soap and towels, a mirror, and two tall tin 
cans of boiling water. A tray of supper sent in "with 
the general's compliments," filled our hearts with over- 
flowing gratitude to our noble foes! 

" I am glad I've Scripture warrant for it, for I simply 
love my enemies," one of us exclaimed, in heart-felt tones. 

A cattle-train, the box-cars crowded with the poor 
emigrants on benches, afforded the sole means for our 
getting on next day. Our kind host, the general, re- 
lieved his mind of us by letting us go to Alexandria on 
parole, under supervision of the provost-marshal there. 
By order from his head-quarters we were allowed to 
travel in the cab of the engine, and thus whizzing past 
many a well-known landmark in our county, we regained 
the old town left two years before under such different 
circumstances. 

We went at once to my uncle's house in Cameron 
Street, where my great-aunts were installed, and spent a 
day or two with them, going about in the interval among 
old friends. Things looked very sad, the secession spirit 
in the town kept under by a rod of iron giving people 
a wistful, cowed expression, and the streets crowded 
with alien soldiers. Wherever we went, in shop or dwel- 
lings, our hands were grasped with speechless sym- 
pathy, tears impeding the utterance of greetings, then 
we were hurried into corners to ask about "our boys." 
When I compared our shabby clothes with their appar- 
ently smart ones, they would exclaim: "But what are 
clothes to standing side by side with those one loves in 
a life-or-death struggle hke ours?" 



io8 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Finally, leave was accorded us by authority to visit 
Washington and remain there until some decision could 
be arrived at in our case. We accordingly resorted to 
the house of a relative at the Federal capital, and w^ith 
brief delay visited Riggs's Bank, where my aunt had the 
infinite relief of depositing her valuable papers and real- 
izing upon them funds much needed by our refugee 
family in the Confederacy. 

For a few days we indulged in the pleasure of daily 
seeing my aunt, Mrs. Irwin, and her children, and other 
dear friends, as well as the unwonted practice of shop- 
ping in establishments that, after the barren wilderness 
of haberdashers' shelves in Richmond, seemed resplen- 
dent. Then fell a thunderbolt! Certain Union sympa- 
thizers among our whilom friends having taken pains 
to communicate to the Secretary of War that he was har- 
boring dangerous characters from the seat of rebellion, 
nearly allied with the leaders of Confederate Govern- 
ment, and full of menace to the Union cause, an order 
was sent to us, which I transcribe: 

"Headquarters, Military Div. of Wash. 
"Washington, D. C, March 19, 1863. 
"Captain H. B. Todd, 

" Provost Marshaly 
" Captain: By direction of the Secretary of War Mrs. 
E. C. Hyde and Miss Constance Cary, refugees from 
Richmond, will be sent South over the lines, with orders 
not to return inside the lines of the United States forces. 
" By Command of 
"Brigadier Gen. Martindale 

"(Signed) John P. Sherburne 
*' Official "Ass. Adjt. General 

"A. W. Baker, Lt. and Adjutant , Washington, D.C." 



RFXOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 109 

A trim young lieutenant with good manners and, as 
afterward developed, a feeling heart — Lieutenant Clark 
Smith of the 169th New York regiment — stood in 
the hall below, as the instrument of fate. There was 
a wild rush of packing, surrounded by zealous friends. 
Whatever it was possible to squeeze into the Dixie 
trunks, with little presents for all our circle, went into 
them; much was worn, a good deal condensed into hand 
luggage. A smart braided riding-habit, a gown or two, 
and other coveted fripperies had to be left with their 
makers, ultimately reaching us by flag of truce. But 
one thing I could not entirely forsake — a new hat, an 
unimagined luxury since many months, that had been 
tried on and was waiting orders at the milliner's! We 
had no sooner seated ourselves in the carriage opposite 
the polite lieutenant than a siege of the enemy ensued, 
shorter but no less successful than that of Richmond. 
In the end, our carriage, on its way to the boat wharf, 
drew up before the door of Miss Wilson's fashionable 
millinery in Pennsylvania Avenue, and our lieutenant, 
issuing from it, returned carrying a bandbox! I hope 
this transgression has long ago been forgiven him! The 
new hat, so thought the Richmond girls, was well worth 
a dash upon the enemy. 

I should perhaps have mentioned before the advent- 
ure of the hat that we had been driven first to the oflSce 
of Provost-Marshal Todd, where the oath of allegiance 
to the United States Government was offered, and de- 
clined, with thanks. Mr. Montgomery Blair had sent 
me a note, addressed to those in high authority, stating 
that as I was the child of an early friend of his, he would 
be glad if circumstances would allow them to grant my 
requests (I suppose they were that we should not be 
molested, but allowed to stay and shop, since that was 



no RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

really all I wanted) but this did not avail! We were 
told that we must positively return to Virginia **as we 
had come," and that without delay. 

In Alexandria once more, we spent the night as pris- 
oners of war, on an upper floor of my uncle's house, the 
lieutenant occupying the little study to the left of the 
front door, a guard upon the pavement. From the 
town we were the recipients of universal sympathy, but 
in our hearts felt that since our work in Washington was 
done, and well done, our chief desire was now to get 
back to our friends. People flocked to the house, ask- 
ing for us and sending messages. One of them. Miss 
Mary Daingerfield, afterward Mrs. Philip Hooe, elud- 
ing the guard at the front, went in the rear way w^here 
she had played as a child with my Fairfax cousins, 
climbed through a window, and arrived in our room, 
cobwebby and joyous, bearing a parcel of delightful 
litde gifts. 

Back at Union Mills again, and surrendered into the 
hands of our former host, we were greeted by jovial 
General Hayes with pleasant tidings. "I'm not going 
to let Fitz Lee boast he treated you better than we shall," 
he exclaimed, when the question arose as to how he 
should dispose of the bad pennies returned upon his 
hands. So behold us seated in a smart ambulance, 
under escort of a dashing guard of forty men in blue, 
the general himself, with two of his staff", accompany- 
ing us to the limit of the Union lines. (I was, in time 
to come, to see my own boy wearing the blue uniform, 
as a member of Troop A of New York, a volunteer in the 
United States service in the war with Spain.) In parting 
I asked if General Hayes had any message to send to his 
old West Point comrade, General Ewell, who had lately 
lost a leg in Confederate service. (We had liked and ad- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY in 

mired General Ewell since the beginning of the war. 
After his wound we went sometimes to call at his lodg- 
ings, where we generally found installed, as guardian of 
his hearth and spirits, his widowed cousin Mrs. Brown, 
and her pretty, bright-eyed daughter Harriott, now liv- 
ing in Washington as the widow of Major Thomas 
Turner, of Kentucky, once of General Ewell's staff. 
General Ewell's marriage to Mrs. Brow^n was the out- 
come of his convalescence from this wound.) "Give 
my best love to good old Dick, and tell him I wish it 
had been his head," was the laughing answer, trans- 
mitted in due time. 

We made our way by divers methods and in slow 
stages across the debatable ground, always received 
for the night by sympathizers eager to greet and hear 
from us. After giving us of their best, they managed to 
hitch up some sort of a horse and vehicle to carry us 
on the next stage. A memorable stop was at the inter- 
esting old house of the Marstellars, whose master, even 
at that date, wore the queue and smallclothes of his an- 
cestors. They sent us on in an antique coach of colo- 
nial pattern, yellow-bodied, blue-wheeled, high-swung, 
with a flight of carpeted steps letting down to admit the 
occupant, and a hoary old negro perched on the high 
box, to preside over the meanderings of " Blackberry 
and the colt," the only steeds left in the Marstellar 
stable by raiders! 

In bleak March weather, we crept wearily over deep- 
rutted clay roads, or "Black Jack" sloughs of Virginia 
mire, through melancholy wastes of landscape strewn 
with felled trees and burned houses. We recognized 
Camp Pickens, the seat of former gay visits to the troops, 
only by the junction of the Manassas and Orange rail- 
roads. At another old camping ground the earth was 



112 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

inlaid with hundreds of shoes cast away by Union troop- 
ers, newly shod. Handsome homesteads crowning the 
hills looked at us through empty eye-sockets, showing 
no sign of life; burnt barns and mills, trampled fields 
were everywhere — it was depressing in the extreme. 

But we forged ahead, and for the final stage of our 
journey — to Rappahannock Station, where we ex- 
pected to find an ambulance from General Fitz Lee's 
head-quarters, in answer to a note despatched by a wan- 
dering Black Horse man encountered on the road — hired 
a timorous countryman, in whose veins ran skim-milk, 
to drive us in a little covered cart. We started betimes 
in the morning, and as the day declined our protector's 
fears waxed voluble. 

"There ain't hardly a day somebody don't git held 
up hereabouts," he would say gloomily. "One side 
or t'other, 'tis 'bout the same with these scouts when 
there's bosses or mules to loot. Coase I ain't afeared 
for myself, but when there's ladies — thet toy pistol o' 
yours ain't but a mite, and anyways I'm no gret hand 
to shoot. A fellow don't like to lose his critturs; does 
he, now ^ Last week they took a man's mules and left 
him stropped up in the bottom of his wagon. This 
ain't no place for female wimmen, nohow. Reckon the 
money I get from you won't pay me for the worry. It's 
a bad place we're comin' to, ahead. If ever I git home 
safe " 

He was interrupted by the apparition, on the summit 
of the hill up which his tired beasts were slowly creep- 
ing, of a horseman, looming to the height of a Doone 
warrior against the evening sky. Was he friend or 
foe ? 

My brave aunt, who made moan over nothing, sat up, 
breathing a little quicker. My heart gave a wild bound 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 113 

as I grasped my pistol. All I could think of "was what 
a perfectly horrible thing it would be to have to fire it 
against live flesh and blood! I, who had seen and 
dressed so many wounds! What a relief to us and our 
chicken-hearted driver when the stranger announced 
himself a Confederate scout who hadn't had a mouthful 
of food that day ! How joyfully we watched him clutch 
at the remainder of our luncheon and eat it like a hun- 
gry wolf! How good to hear that the big railway bridge 
over the Rappahannock was but a mile beyond, and that 
the way was clear, with General Lee's outpost pickets 
on the farther side ! " But I misdoubt your crossin' that 
there ford to-night, ladies," were his last disheartening 
words as we parted company. 

Alas! it was too true. The Rappahannock, swelled 
to fury by spring rains, was now a tearing, resistless 
yellow flood, the ford invisible. And now our driver 
rose and asserted his manhood. Go back we must and 
would. If we liked, he'd take us " to the nighest house," 
some five miles in our rear. 

Upon the far side of the maddened stream we could 
plainly see the camp-fires of our pickets. How to reach 
them, we knew not; but turn back — no! 

Our driver paid and in the act of swift retreat, our 
trunks and bags piled under the stone buttress of the 
bridge, we climbed the steep bank and stood upon the 
track above, straining our eyes in the direction where we 
fain would be. In vain did I throw all the vigor of 
strong lungs into a halloo for notice. The rush of the 
river drowned my attempts, and it was growing dark. 
The Rappahannock bridge, subsequently burnt by mil- 
itary order, was then the highest and longest on the lines 
of the Orange and Alexandria Road. There was no 
way of crossing it save by stepping from tie to tie of the 



114 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

railway. When I proposed essaying this, for the first 
time Mrs. Hyde's courage failed her. Over that raging 
river she could not walk without vertigo, and how could 
she let a young girl go alone ? 

The irreverent answer was that there were times when 
a girl with a steady brain and a light foot was worth any 
chaperon ! And before the dear, alarmed lady could 
cry out, I was off skipping across the ties, till about the 
middle of the bridge the pickets espied me and sent 
forth a mighty shout. 

Three or four of them came running to meet me and 
hear my tale. They said they were never more aston- 
ished than to look up and see a young lady coming, at 
that hour, apparently alone, out of the forsaken waste 
of country beyond the bridge. They had had no order 
from the general, but there was a house near their picket 
post where we could put up for the night. After that 
all became easy work in our eyes. Two of the troopers 
brought my aunt across between them, others followed 
with our belongings. At their little camp by the track 
over the water's edge we were mounted on peaked sad- 
dles, upon rawboned horses, and led along an unspeak- 
ably muddy road, a big cavalryman loaded down with 
our rugs, bags, and bandboxes bringing up the rear. 
At the farm-house where they asked shelter for us the 
good woman fairly embraced us in her hospitality. Cut 
off in that lonely world, where battles, raids, and skir-. 
mishes were her only excitement, w^e were a godsend. 
So eager was she to ask questions, we could hardly eat 
the bacon and corn-bread she offered for answering 
them. Warmed by a fire of pine knots, washed and 
comforted, we sank at last into a feather-bed in the loft, 
with heart-felt gratitude to God that we were safe at last 
in dear, war-worn old Dixie! 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 115 

Toward morning our sleep was broken by a noise as 
of thunder beneath our windows — wheels, shouts, the 
tramp of horses' feet, the ring of soldiers' steel — what 
was it ? Broad awake and up in the moment, we be- 
lieved a skirmish to be in progress. But leaning from 
the window we espied in the gray dawn our host in col- 
loquy with a Confederate uniform, and the little house 
yard completely filled with gray troopers dismounting 
around an empty ambulance. The happy truth flashed 
upon us! This was our ambulance, our guard, sent 
by our loyal friend, the general, to convoy us to our 
original starting point! Hurrah for General Fitz! 



CHAPTER VI 

OUR "On to Washington" experience was a nine 
days' wonder among our friends in Richmond, 
and for a brief space I enjoyed distinction as an 
arbiter of fashion, resulting from possession of a new 
hat and gown, boots and gloves, all at once. My few 
fineries, snatched from the protesting clutch of Uncle 
Sam, were handed about to be copied, till I feared they 
would be worn out. My mother having withdrawn 
for a while from her hospital work, we enjoyed a sem- 
blance of home in the portion of a dwelling in Third 
Street, kindly leased to us by the friends who owned 
it. We had a large sitting-room with a pantry back 
of it. In this we received visitors and took our meals, 
prepared by our friend's negro cook in the kitchen in 
the backyard. Upstairs were our bedrooms and bath. 
My cousin Hetty Cary, returning again from Baltimore, 
had rejoined us. My brother, who had been at Charles- 
ton doing guard-boat duty at the time of the first attack 
on Sumter by the iron-clad fleet — lying night after night 
in a small boat upon an open sea, rocking on the waves, 
listening intently for a movement from the enemy — was 
ordered back to Richmond, to the school-ship Patrick 
Henry, on the James. 

There, as adjutant of the ship, he had sometimes oc- 
casion to read out his own name in the punishment list;, 
for the offences of smoking, laughing in section-room, 
etc. The Navy Department had wisely decided not to 
allow its little kiddies to grow up only in the school of 

ii6 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 117 

arms. To his rations of "real" tea and coffee saved for 
his mother, we were indebted for the only taste of those 
props of feminine existence that we enjoyed till the end of 
the war. We had eggs, butter, potatoes, salt meat, and 
rice in abundance, but almost no butcher's meat or fowls. 
My mother catered for us, and we fared well, though by 
then had set in the period when it was said a citizen 
went to market with his money in a market basket and 
brought home his provisions in his pocket-book. It 
is certain I could not write a war book and omit that 
anecdote! Water-cresses were the only green things 
visible at market, and they were actually cheap. The 
precious bluebacks of Confederate currency became 
alarmingly plentiful and secured for us less and less. 
Early in the war there had been a brief period of "indi- 
vidual" notes, quickly suppressed by government. We 
had a good laugh at finding in our honored mother's 
purse, whither it had drifted with some change, one of 
these, inscribed: "Good for one drink. John Smith." 

One of our former boarding-house hostesses had of- 
fered to supply our little menage W\i^ china and glass, not 
to be bought at any price in Richmond. We accepted 
gratefully, and for a brief time enjoyed the luxury of 
French porcelain plates and cups, when one day ar- 
rived a messenger requesting the immediate return of 
these articles, as an accident had occurred in which all 

of Mrs. 's were broken. Back went the borrowed 

glory, and that day we dined upon tin plates, with our 
salt and pepper in cocked-hat dishes made of writing- 
paper. Another family had, in this fashion, to give up 
a borrowed dining-table at the very moment when their 
invited guests had just seated themselves around it. 

Letter-paper became desperately scarce. To Burton 
Harrison I was indebted for the gift of a large package 



ii8 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

of cream laid paper with envelopes to match, which took 
the place on my writing-table of a pile of prescription 
blanks presented to me by a doctor in a hospital, used 
with envelopes made of wall-paper, the pattern side 
within. Mr. Harrison said he was protecting himself 
against excuses for non-response to notes. Wall-paper 
served also for the binding of some of Miss Miihlbach's 
works, and of a translation from Victor Hugo, welcomed 
in the army under the popular title of " Lee's Miser- 
ables" ("Les Miserables"). 

I suppose, in view of the amount of ink-splashing 
afterward perpetrated, I may be excused for saying that 
before this time I had begun to write stories, verses, and 
sketches which the editors of various war papers flattered 
me by consenting to print. The Southern Illustrated 
News, the "Best Family Journal in the Confederacy," 
edited by Messrs. Ayers and Wade, had for its "regular 
contributors" Messrs. John R. Thompson, John Esten 
Cooke, Harry Timrod, James Barron Hope, and Paul 
H. Hayne, certainly a list of important and charming 
writers. The News, "sent to all parts of the Confed- 
eracy at ten dollars a year," paid me my first literary 
checks. The paper on which it was printed was 
yellow and coarse, and the illustrations, mainly of gen- 
erals in the field, made those hopes of our nation look 
like brigands and cutthroats of the deepest dye. The 
Magnolia Weekly, "A Home Journal of Literature and 
General News," was the other patron of my budding 
literary ambition. Both of these weeklies struggled 
under the drawback of having the military authorities 
of Richmond descend at any moment and drag off edi- 
tors, printers, engravers, and contributors to delve in 
the mud of trenches or to stand guard around the pris- 
ons and bridges of the Confederate capital. At that 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 119 

peremptory call of the alarm bell Richmond learned to 
know so well, the entire staff of the two periodicals often 
had to forsake office duty and be absent for an indefinite 
time. During the summer of 1864 there were many 
suspensions of publication, but the work began again 
in October, 1864, and continued I know not how long, 
to the satisfaction of camps and citizens. 

The greatest feather in my literary cap, however, 
I conceived to be an appearance in verse in the columns 
of the critical Examiner, of which people stood in awe 
for the caustic utterances of its editor, Mr. John M. 
Daniel, on subjects military and otherwise. I had met 
Mr. Daniel and considered him as unapproachable as 
the north pole was till recently; but, as has been proved, 
even the north pole has been misunderstood, and the 
Jove-like editor not only gave me a place on the edito- 
rial page, but came to call afterward, and continued to 
be a kind friend. The verses in question were the wail 
of a mother for a son shot in battle before Richmond. 
Probably I imitated Mrs. Browning, but without know- 
ing it, for I always tried to write what I knew or could feel 
myself. I had shyly shown them first to our delight- 
ful next-door neighbor in lodgings, Mr. John Mitchel, 
the famous Irish agitator, whom we knew only as a 
kind-eyed, brown-bearded man, full of literary taste and 
culture, residing with his family to whom he was en- 
tirely devoted. To Mr. Mitchel I owed a range of new 
ideas. He superintended my reading and urged me to 
go on writing and to work hard. Mr. Daniel, too, gave 
me sane and strong counsel. My third literary god- 
father was Mr. John R. Thompson, former editor of the 
Southern Literary Messenger, of which Poe was the most 
illustrious contributor. Mr. Thompson wrote charm- 
ing vers de societc after the style of Austin Dobson. 



I20 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

He was also a sort of laureate of the Confederacy, since 
to him were due many tender and graceful verses writ- 
ten and published in the daily press upon subjects of 
immediate public interest, like the death of army heroes 
and the winning of great battles. In 1864 he went to 
London to take an editorial position on The Index, a 
journal supported by the Confederate Government with 
the hope of inducing France and England to lend aid 
to its cause, and became also a leader writer on the 
London Stayjdard. To reach a British port, he ran out 
of Wilmington in a Confederate blockade-runner, slept 
on a cotton bale, was chased by a United States steamer, 
but reached Bermuda safely. There he took the Brit- 
ish mail-packet for Halifax, thence went by the Asia to 
Liverpool. From London, he made visits to aristo- 
cratic country houses in Scotland and Ireland, and on 
returning to town in the autumn, surrounded himself 
with a circle of friends comprising Tennyson, Mr. and 
Mrs. Carlyle, Bulwer, Lord Donoughmore, Lord 
Houghton, the Duke of Sutherland, Mr. and Mrs. 
Gladstone, Disraeli, Dickens, Mowbray Morris, editor- 
in-chief of the London Times, Woolner, Millais, Charles 
Kingsley, Dean and Lady Stanley, Lady Augusta Stan- 
ley (then lady in waiting to Queen Victoria), who enter- 
tained him at luncheon at Windsor Castle; Dowager 
Marchioness of Bath, a warm friend of the Confederacy; 
Miss Thackeray, Mrs. Sartoris, Sir Edwin Landseer, 
Lady Georgiana Fane, the Countess of Harrington, 
and many others. An account in his diary of this 
time described drinking tea and spending the evening 
with Thomas Carlyle at 5 Cheyne Row, on October 
14, 1864. 

"Mrs. Carlyle has been for some time an invalid, but 
made her appearance. Lady Ashburton and Miss Ba- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 121 

ring came in after tea. Mr. Carlyle said it was his habit 
to drink five cups of tea. He ran off into table-talk 
about tea and coffee, told us that he had found in Lord 
Russell's 'Memoirs of Moore,' which he called a rub- 
bishy book, the origin of the word biggin; it comes from 
one Biggin, a tinner, who first made the vessel and was 
knighted afterwards. Then he talked of pipes and to- 
bacco and recited the old verse, 'Think this, and smoke 
tobacco.' There was but one honest pipe made in 
Britain — by a Glasgow man, who used a clay found in 
Devonshire. Mr. Carlyle enquired about the Confed^ 
eracy, its resources, army, its supplies of food and 
powder. He read a letter from Emerson in which the 
Yankee philosopher declared that the struggle now going 
on was the battle of humanity. When we rose to say 
good night, he called a servant for his coat and boots 
(he had received us in dressing-gown and slippers), and 
walked with us within a stone's throw of Grosvenor 
Hotel, two miles, at half past eleven. On the way pass- 
ing Chelsea Hospital, he burst into a tribute to Wren 
the architect, of whom he said there was a rare harmony, 
a sweet veracity, in all his work. We mentioned Tenny- 
son, and he spoke with great affection of him, but 
thought him inferior to Burns: he had known 'Alfred' 
for years; said he used to come in hob-nailed boots and 
rough coat, to blow a cloud with him. Carlyle said 
he thought Mill's book on Liberty the greatest nonsense 
he had ever read, and spoke despairingly of the future 
of Great Britain: too much money would be the ruin 
of the land." 

On October 31, 1864: "At Carlyle's, who made many 
enquiries about Lee, whom he greatly admires." 

Again on May 17, 1865: "Went to Chelsea. Mr. 
Carlyle amused us very much by his comments on the 



122 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

proclamation of (President) Johnson. He styled him 
a sanguinary tailor seated on Olympus." 

On November 15, 1865: "Called on Carlyle. Found 
the Irish patriot, Gavan Duffy there. Carlyle gave us 
a graphic account of a visit to the thieves quarter at 
Whitechapel. He also spoke of the great ignorance of 
the educated classes in England and Germany, of Ger- 
man history and literature." 

On January 25, 1866: "Called at Cheyne Row^. 
Found Carlyle in the best of humours. He gave us an 
account of the rise of Chartism in England. He de- 
nounced the Emperor Napoleon and John Bright w^ith 
equal severity, and said w^hile there w^as not one noble 
soul to be found in all France, England had become a 
great, horrible discordant blacksmith's shop." 

On June i, 1866: "Met in Hyde Park Carlyle, the 
first time since the death of his wife. We walked as far 
as Brompton Road. He talked with all his peculiar 
brilliancy — speaking of Jefferson Davis he declared that 
looking at the war from first to last, Davis seemed to 
him one of the manliest actors in it, and whatever the 
jury might say on his trial, the grand jury of mankind 
had already declared him not guilty." 

In Carlyle's "Reminiscences," edited by Froude, oc- 
curs this passage concerning Mrs. Carlyle's sympathy 
with the South : " Amongst other last things she told me 
that evening was, with deep sympathy: 'Mr. Thomp- 
son' (a Virginian who sometimes came) 'called one 
night; he says there is little doubt they will hang Presi- 
dent Davis!' Upon which I almost resolved to write 
a pamphlet upon it, had not I myself been so ignorant 
about the matter, so foreign to the whole fratricidal 
'war' (as they call it); self-murder of a million brother 
Englishmen for the sake of sheer phantasms and totally 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 123 

false theories upon the Nigger, as I had reckoned it — 
and that probably I should do poor Davis nothing but 
harm." 

On the 15th of June, in the same year, Thompson 
makes another visit to Chelsea, when he saw Carlyle's 
brother and his niece, Mrs. Welsh. "Mr, Carlyle said 
it seemed to him men were bent on reversing the idea 
of a millennium, which was to lock up the devil a thou- 
sand years, and were going to give him a free passage 
to do his worst on earth." 

A portion of Mr. Thompson's diary was edited and 
published by his friend Mrs. Elizabeth Stoddard, 
author of several vigorous novels, and wife of Richard 
Henry Stoddard, the poet. Thompson was a great 
deal at their house when he lived, after the war, in 
New York, as an associate editor of the Evening Post. 
Mrs. Stoddard mentioned to me an entry in the jour- 
nal of a check, "the proceeds of a poem on the ob- 
sequies of General Stuart," sent to me, but "never 
received." 

I explained to her that there was some mistake about 
this, since I have now in my album the letter accompa- 
nying the check sent as an offering to my work in the 
hospitals. Mr. Thompson was present at my marriage 
and wrote an account of it (strictly without names). 
He did not live long enough after that, poor fellow, in 
his adopted Northern home to become the frequenter 
of our house my husband and I would both have wished 
him to be, for a sweeter-tempered man and one more 
pleasingly in love with literature never lived, than he! 

To Mr. Thompson I was indebted not only for guid- 
ance of my taste in reading and research, but for a steady 
provision of English classics from the State Library, 
weekly piled upon my table. I read constantly, and 



124 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

studied. We had almost no ephemeral publications, 
therefore no temptation to stray out of the straight and 
narrow path of standard literature. I studied French, 
Italian, and Spanish, and no day passed in which I did 
not write something. I think, in this connection, the 
distinguished trio of advisers who protected my juve- 
nile efforts in literature must have felt they had pulled 
a string of a shower-bath from the scribblings that pres- 
ently poured from my pen. To these productions I be- 
gan by signing the name "Refugitta," meaning "Ex- 
ile." From letters received from friends across the 
line, I invented a "Blockade Correspondence" between 
"Secessia,"in Baltimore, and" Refugitta," in Richmond, 
published in the Southern Illustrated News. In one of 
these letters, dated 1864, "Secessia" advises her block- 
aded friend to read "Russell's Snobbish Diary, "Barren 
Honour," by the author of that "nice, naughty, 'Guy 
Livingston,' " and especially "Orley Farm," by Anthony 
Trollope; Lever's " Barrington," and Miss Mulock's 
"Mistress and Maid." She is in despair because the 
dear Autocrat of the Breakfast Table has called us 
Southerners "Lords of the Lash," but hopes he will live 
to repent. She describes the newest method of hair- 
dressing, styled "rats and mice" — the forelock rolled 
back, the back hair parted and rolled forward, a 
"cache peigne" of ribbon or flowers in the middle of the 
head behind; also the new bonnets, ofi^ the head two 
inches at the top, filled with tulle ruching, in which rest 
full-blown roses. She announces that high-necked ball 
dresses are coming in, and raves over a bewitching pair 
of Paris boots with scarlet heels and a ruche of black 
satin ribbon about the ankle! She ridicules the New 
York public for going wild about the marriage at Grace 
Church, superintended by Brown and Barnum, of Tom 



RECOLLFXTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 125 

Thumb and his bride; says the last mode for dessert in 
Paris is to have strawberries growing in pots placed 
before each guest at table; and describes the travelling 
gown of the new Princess of Wales as "a silk Victoria 
tartan dress, trimmed around the skirt with a full row 
of black velvet, a jacket of silver grey poplin, and a bon- 
net of white crepe, without a veil." 

**Refugitta," in return, narrates the difficulties of 
getting anything at all to wear or to eat in Richmond, 
describes the thrilling passage through the town of 
shabby, war-worn, hungry troops, a thousand times 
dearer and more welcome than in their days of gold lace 
and glitter; the amusing attempts of the women to turn 
old rags into new garments; quotes Southey's north 
countrywoman's directions to her tailor: ''Here, 
talleor, tak this petcut; thoo mun bind me't, and thoo 
mun tap-bind me't; thoo mun turn it rongsid afoor, 
tapsid bottom, insid oot." Next, "Secessia" is made to 
feel that for all the fashions of Paris and New York 
combined, Richmond girls would not exchange the 
chance of receiving flying visits from Uncle Robert's 
boys in gray uniforms, however threadbare and smoke- 
stained from a hundred fights. 

"Refugitta," in passing, makes note of a cruel dis- 
appointment endured by the maidens of Richmond for 
whose entertainment had been planned, by the gallant 
and plucky Jenkins's brigade of South Carolina stationed 
near town, a tournament in which the prowess of Ivan- 
hoe and Brian de Bois Guilbert were to be emulated. 
"Expectation was on tiptoe, when the Assyrian came 
down like a wolf on the fold; in plain words, General 
Elzey, Mr. Seddon, and other hard-hearted officials, 
shut down a lid upon our hopes, and ordered the bri- 
gade away!" 



126 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

A mixing of metaphors does not yet seem to have been 
eliminated from the style of the young aspirant for lit- 
erary place! 

That spring we rode a great deal to the battle-fields 
below Richmond, sometimes in sight of the Union picket 
lines. My companion in these expeditions was now and 
then the private secretary of the President, sitting erect 
and easily upon his gallant gray; but this was only when 
his chief would let him off from the afternoon rides that 
wore out the patience of the staff. 

Sometimes there was an excursion by steamer down 
the James, to Drury's BlufF and beyond, including all 
the people who made up gay society (a misnomer that, 
when a sigh followed almost every smile!) chaperoned 
by Mrs. Davis, or Mrs. Mallory, the wife of the Secre- 
tary of the Navy. Our favorite walks were in the direc- 
tion of Hollywood and on to the bank of the canal above 
the turbulent rapids of the James. 

We received many visitors in our little menage, and 
shared our ups and downs of housekeeping with some 
stately and important personages. 

Charles Godfrey Leland has said that "every brain 
is like a monastery of the Middle Ages, or a beehive. 
It is thought that no man, however learned or experi- 
enced he might be, ever contrived during all his life to 
so much as even half fill the cells of his memory. Yes, 
they are all there — every image of the past, every face 
which has ever smiled on us — every line read in print, 
every picture, every face and house is there — ■ — " 

It is certain that since I began to write these pages, 
memory has summoned up for me many names, per- 
sons, and circumstances of my early youth that had been 
overlaid by a thousand succeeding impressions, and ap- 
parently forgotten. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 127 

I will try to extract from my honey-comb some of the 
personalities of the war. But as I am just now writing 
ciirrente calamo, with a few old letters and jottings of 
a girl's diary to draw upon, I must take them as they 
come. 

Our most illustrious caller that spring was the com- 
mander-in-chief of the Army of Northern Virginia. Gen- 
eral Lee came one evening, and after a pleasant talk 
with my mother and me, arose to go, we escorting him 
to the front door. It was broad moonlight, and I recall 
as if it were yesterday the superb figure of our hero 
standing in the little porch without, saying a few last 
words as he swung his military cape around his shoul- 
ders. It did not need my fervid imagination to think 
him the most noble looking mortal I had ever seen. As 
he swept off his hat for a second and final farewell, he 
bent down and kissed me as he often did the girls he 
had known from their childhood. At that time Gen- 
eral Lee was literally the idol of the Confederacy. His 
moral grandeur, recognized by all, lifted him into the 
region where "Envy, nor calumny, nor hate, nor pain" 
did not venture to assail him. We felt, as he left us and 
walked off up the quiet leafy street in the moonlight, 
that we had been honored as by more than royalty. 

We went often to Mrs. Davis's receptions, where the 
President never failed to say kind words in passing, and 
sometimes to tarry for a pleasant chat. Always grave, 
always looking as if he bore the sorrows of a world, he 
was invariably courteous and sometimes playful in his 
talk with very young women. These entertainments of 
Mrs. Davis, in the evening between limited hours, were 
attended by every one not in deep mourning. The lady 
of the Confederate White House, while not always spar- 
ing of witty sarcasms upon those who had aflronted 



128 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

her, could be depended upon to conduct her salon ^^ ith 
extreme grace and conventional ease. Her sister, Mar- 
garet Howell, aided to lend it brilliancy. 

To one of these receptions, Hetty and I had accepted 
the escort of a captain, convalescent after the loss of a 
leg in service, who, poor fellow, was rejoicing in the pos- 
session of a new artificial leg of the latest pattern, with 
all modern improvements, which had reached him 
through the blockade. We had all three walked to- 
gether through the dimly lit streets for but a short dis- 
tance, when our escort gave signs of distress — halted, 
begged our pardon, stammered, then declared he could 
go no farther, as his leg had "come unstrapped." The 
street was empty of passers, and we, filled with dismay 
at our inability to serve, could but aid him to back up 
against a house wall and, one on either side of him, 
stand there almost crying through sympathy, to await 
the arrival of assistance. After a long delay, some 
officers came up, by whom we were relieved of our 
charge and finally convoyed to the President's house. 

Mrs. Semmes, wife of the Louisiana senator, a hand- 
some woman with a gift for tragic acting that might 
have carried her far upon the stage, gave an evening of 
charades in pantomime. Mrs. Chestnut had asked to 
call and take me there, "in a carriage" — a great event, 
as we usually walked everywhere! Until I read her 
diary, published long after her death, I had no idea 
of the marital discussion that had gone on between 
her husband and her lively self about the price of that 
carriage — '* twenty-five dollars for the evening ! " When 
she arrived at our house we had just been hearing from 
Von Borcke about the compliment paid him by Con- 
gress the day before, a vote of "thanks of the country 
to Major Heros von Borcke." He blushed tremen- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 129 

dously as always when we praised him. I think he and 
young Preston Hampton were also asked by Mrs. Chest- 
nut to share in the transit to the party in that twenty- 
five dollar carriage. She was so delightful we did not 
care if we never got there. In her diary, she says she 
sent it back for her husband, who brought Hetty Cary 
and Mr. Tucker, so it certainly did duty as an omnibus. 

When we reached the Semmes', the drawing-rooms 
were crowded with smart people, the President and Mrs. 
Davis, Mr. Benjamin, the silver-tongued Secretary of 
State, Mr. and Mrs. Mallory and their sparkling little 
Ruby, with all the high world of the government. When 
it came my turn to perform (in something forgotten, 
where I wore a cap and apron and carried a duster), 
they had to wrench me away from a lively and pleasant 
conversation vv'ith the President, whom I was trying to 
amuse between the acts. 

Of that performance, easily the best feature was the 
strong realistic acting of the hostess; and we considered 
it an achievement that she had induced the hitherto 
haughty and unyielding secretary of the President not 
only to appear in such things at all, but to cut off his 
mustache in order to be Eleazar to her Rebecca at the 
Well. Long after, when my husband consented to put 
on an Arab sheik's costume to please us, in Jerusalem, 
I was reminded of his attire in the Semmes' tableaux, 
made up by Mrs. Davis and Miss Howell from Oriental 
shreds and patches found about the house. 

General Stuart was, I think, one of their performers; 
a tremendous card for the management when induced 
to stalk through a pilgrimage scene and lay his sword 
at the foot of a votive cross; then Mr. Cooper de Leon, 
in gloom and chains, represented so thrillingly a con- 
demned prisoner in Bridewell as to leave the audience 



I30 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

inconsolable till the lights were turned up again. And 
k.tly, the evening was made memorable by a supper 
from the hands of a chef; not a supper of makeshifts 
and dire disappointments to the palate, but a genuine 
old-time banquet. 

One of the most picturesque and royally remembered 
figures of our war was that same Prussian baron, Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Heros von Borcke, serving as a volun- 
teer on Stuart's staff. When he first appeared among 
us, in the spring of 1863, he was a giant in stature, blond 
and virile, with great curling golden mustaches, and 
the expression in his wide-open blue eyes of a singularly 
modest boy. It was said that he rode on the biggest 
horse and wielded the heaviest sabre in the army, mak- 
ing his appearance in skirmish or battle a living terror 
to his enemy. Holding, from the first, high place in the 
esteem of his fellow-officers and superiors, Von Borcke, 
whom the troopers styled "Major Bandbox," won bril- 
liant renown in service, and was equally popular in 
society in Richmond. To dance with him in the swift- 
circling, never-reversing German fashion was a breath- 
less experience, and his method of avoiding obstacles 
in the ballroom was simply to lift his partner off her 
feet, without altering his step, and deposit her in safety 
farther on. Poor Von Borcke received a dangerous 
wound in the throat in battle, and was nursed back to 
life again by the family of the late Professor Thomas R. 
Price, of Columbia, then resident near Richmond. He 
went back into service, despite the fact that "my bul- 
let," as he always called it, was never removed and be- 
came liable, upon any unusual exertion, to move its 
position and threaten to choke him. Once, when sit- 
ting in our drawing-room, he insisted upon leaning over 
the back of a sofa to pick up a wandering thimble from 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 131 

the floor, the effort bringing on a frightful fit of cough- 
ing and struggHng for breath, which my dear mother 
dealt with skilfully, while we girls assisted with tears 
streaming from our eyes. I have pictures of Von Borcke 
before and after his wound, the first of the Athos, Por- 
thos and Aramis variety of manly hero, the last pain- 
fully thin and emaciated. It was some consolation 
to his friends in the South when, after having fought 
with distinction in the Franco-Prussian War, married 
and settled upon his ancestral estates in Pomerania, 
Colonel von Borcke returned to visit America, display- 
ing far more than his original supply of avoirdupois. 
An absence in Europe at this time prevented our claim- 
ing the pleasure of receiving him at our home. His own 
account of his adventures in our war was published soon 
after it in Blackwood's Magazine. He died some years 
since, but it is certain that no hero of our side has been 
more treasured in memory both for his dashing feats 
at arms and his lovable qualities of mind and heart 
than he. 

Prince Camille de Polignac, who as readily adapted 
himself to our simple ways in Richmond as he had done 
to the courts of Europe, was much liked in our society. 
I can still remember his look of sudden dismay when a 
guileless Richmond hostess, at the end of an evening 
party, asked him if he would "mind seeing" a certain 
young lady ''home." This meant a sufficiently long 
walk, without chaperon, through the dim streets, but 
the prince acquiesced gravely, and wrapping his Na- 
poleonic cloak around him, he strode majestically be- 
side his charge, hardly speaking till he deposited her 
at the parental door. 

A very handsome and plucky young Englishman, 
Lord Edward St. Maur, of the Duke of Somerset's fam- 



132 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

ily, who had come to America with the Marquis of 
Hartington, appeared in Richmond in the spring of 
1862, and bore himself with gallantry under hot fire with 
Longstreet at the battle known as "Frayser's Farm," or 
"Glendale," soon afterward going by flag of truce into 
the Union lines, and returning to England to the regret 
of Richmond people who had hoped to see more of him. 
General Moxley Sorrel records that Lord Edward met 
the sad fate of being mauled and eaten by a tiger while 
hunting big game in India. 

Colonel Garnet Wolseley, of the British army, now 
Viscount Wolseley, who has endeared himself to all 
Southerners of the true faith by his splendid eulogies of 
Lee — ranking him with Marlborough and Wellington 
— made a flying visit to the Confederacy, coming through 
from Canada where he was then stationed. "Praise 
from Sir Hubert," are Lord Wolseley's words of the 
Southern leaders, since he has himself climbed to the 
pinnacle of the ladder of fame in military service, and 
is now field-marshal in the British army. 

The Hon. Francis Lawley, correspondent in the Con- 
federacy for the London Times, is cordially remembered 
among the survivors of the Southern friends whose cause 
he so generously espoused. 

Frank Vizitelly, correspondent and artist for the Lon- 
don Illustrated News, could hardly have been called a 
"ladies' man," but we nevertheless met him several 
times and were immensely entertained by his varied ac- 
complishments. He was a big, florid, red-bearded Bo- 
hemian, of a type totally unfamiliar to us Virginians, 
who could and would do anything to entertain a circle. 
In our theatricals, tableaux, and charades, he was a 
treasure-trove. Everything we proposed was according 
to what they had done in London in the theatrical club 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GA\ 133 

of which Charles Dickens was the shining light, and we, 
of course, bowed before his superior knowledge. He 
painted our scenery and faces, made wigs and armor, 
and was a mine of suggestion in stage device. He sang 
songs, told stories, danced pas seals, and was generally 
most kind and amusing. The men said he was very 
plucky in the saddle and on the battle-field. Later in 
life, we heard of him in wars here, there, and every- 
where, in the service of the Londoit Illustrated News. 
To our regret, we learned of his death under Hicks 
Pasha, in the Soudan, and were glad to find his name 
inscribed with honor on a memorial tablet set in the 
wall of grand old St. Paul's in London. 

At the time of which I am now writing, Lieutenant- 
Colonel Freemantle, of the British Coldstream Guards, 
had not yet come to Richmond, where he afterward 
joined General Lee's army and went with it in the dis- 
astrous invasion of Pennsylvania. No one ever heard 
Colonel Freemantle spoken of by his Southern comrades 
save in terms of enthusiastic praise. When he went 
back to England after this campaign, his book, "Three 
Months in the Southern States," was published, making 
its way to the Confederacy, where its charming spirit 
and interesting presentment of the situation was greatly 
welcomed. By the next season we were all eagerly 
reading this brochure reprinted in Mobile for circu- 
lation in the army. During the remainder of his life 
Sir Arthur Lyon-Freemantle, K.C.M.G., held dis- 
tinguished place in the British army and was during 
four years Governor of Malta, a place of highest honor 
in his Majesty's service. 

To return to our pseudo-housekeeping in Third 
Street. One day when \\t had been giving tea to a 



134 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

party of friends, I left my mother and cousin to 
entertain them, while I, as we had only half the service 
of a maid, retired into the pantry to wash the tea things 
for a second use. Little Mr. de St. Martin, always 
merry and helpful, insisted upon following me to volun- 
teer in drying the cups and saucers, so I equipped him 
with a long white apron and bestowed on him a tea 
towel. While busily engaged he and I did not observe 
that the pantry door was softly opened, until a burst of 
laughter revealed my cousin Hetty and several of our 
callers standing there making sport of us! 

In that same pantry I had rather a startling experi- 
ence. Coming home late from a party where, as usual, 
there was no supper, after we had gone to our rooms, I 
ran downstairs to get some food to stay the cravings of 
our ever keen appetites. On lighting the gas, I immedi- 
ately saw that the window looking upon the back was 
open at the bottom, the sill clutched by ten vigorous 
black fingers. What to do cost me a momentary pang. 
But I reflected that the town was full of half-starved, 
marauding negroes, and that, in any case, I would get 
nothing by crying out. So, appearing to have noticed 
nothing, I pulled down the window with a slam, and the 
fingers withdrew suddenly. I locked the sash at the 
top, lowered the blind carelessly left up, secured my 
plate of cold corn-dodgers, put out the gas, then tore, 
breathless, palpitating, and scared to death, upstairs to 
rejoin my comrades. All together, we looked out into 
the darkness of the yard, but our robber had already 
climbed the fence and taken to his heels. 

The reign of expedients in food had now begun. We 
had pork enough in different forms, potatoes, bread, and 
eggs (did we not practice the one hundred different ways 
of cooking an egg?). For sweets, there were pies 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 135 

made with dried fruit, or cakes with black sorghum 
molasses in lieu of sugar, chopped dried peaches in 
place of currants, dried orange-peel making believe it 
was citron, and dried apples doing their best, but failing, 
to masquerade as raisins. 

Ladies plaited straw hats around the evening lamp. 
Von Borcke, waxing enthusiastic about a Confederate 
bride whom he had seen, declared: "Ach, she was most 
beautiful in von spun-home dress and von self-made 
hat!" We sewed dreadful-looking gloves of chamois 
leather, cut by a pattern handed from friend to friend. 
Some made shoes that others declared they would sooner 
by far go barefoot than appear in. As loot from the 
battle-fields, young men passed on to their sweethearts 
presents of toilet-soap, combs and brushes, needle- 
books (ah! so carefully made for the out-going soldier 
in far-away Northern homes!), scissors, pins. On 
the retreat from Maryland in the previous autumn, 
yards of calico, rolls of tape, and spools of sewing 
cotton, had been tucked into knapsacks to be grate- 
fully received by wives, mothers, and daughters of the 
soldiers. 

Thanks to my shopping in Washington, I had gloves 
in plenty, but shoes were sadly lacking. When Cap- 
tain Joseph Denegre said blushingly that he had re- 
ceived a pair of ladies' boots by blockade from Nassau, 
intended for his sister in New Orleans, which since he 
could not possibly get them to her, he would presume 
to offer to me, never was gift more gladly welcomed! 
Earlier in the war, Paul Morphy, the celebrated chess- 
player, whom we knew in Richmond, accepted a com- 
mission to purchase for me in New Orleans, whither he 
was returning, a French voilette of real black thread 
lace, the height of my ambition. When the veil arrived. 



136 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

as selected by himself, we voted Mr. Morphy an expert 
in other arts than chess. 

We even heard of a private in the Confederate 
ranks bringing back from Maryland a pair of stays, 
v^^hich he presented to his fiancee. One remembers 
when Mr. Jefferson was minister to France, a young 
lady in America commissioning him to buy for her the 
latest fashion in corsets, he complying gracefully, and 
writing in return: "Should they be too small, you will 
be good enough to lay them by awhile, as there are ebbs 
as well as flows in this world." A blockade-runner, 
coming in to a Southern port, brought, instead of arms 
and drugs, an entire cargo of corsets sold out at great 
profit by the venturer who had stocked her! For women 
must lace, while men will fight, might have been a motto 
of the hour! 



CHAPTER VII 

DARK days were in store for Richmond. An in- 
cipient bread riot occurred in her streets in April, 
when a large number of women and children of 
the poorer class met and marched through Main and 
Cary streets, attacking and sacking several stores kept 
by known speculators. President Davis, Governor 
Letcher, General Elzey, and General Winder, with Mr. 
Seddon, Secretary of War, met the painful situation by 
prompt but kind measures and personal appeal. Ra- 
tions of rice issued by the government aided to calm the 
disturbance, which left, however, a distressing impress- 
ion upon all minds. 

A thrilling day for us was the Sunday of Stoneman's 
raid, when, as usual, a large congregation met at St. 
Paul's Church, remaining for the communion service. 
We knew that a big and terrible fight was on at Chancel- 
lorsville, in which sons, husbands, brothers of many of 
the people present were engaged. Outside in the soft 
spring air, a tumult of war sounds continually dis- 
tracted our thoughts and racked our nerves. The 
marching of armed men, the wheels of wagons contain- 
ing shot and shell, the clash of iron gates in the Capitol 
Square opposite, went on without ceasing, while repeat- 
edly messengers came up the aisle touching some kneel- 
ing or sitting worshipper on the shoulder, a summons 
responded to by an electric start, and then the hurried 
departure of shocked, pallid people from the church. 
These were the calls to come and receive some beloved 

137 



138 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

one brought in dead or wounded from the field. To 
the rector of the church, Dr. Minnegerode, in the act 
of administering the sacrament with another clergyman, 
the sexton carried and delivered at the altar rails one 
of these dread messages, at once obeyed by the father 
whose son was reported dead and awaiting him at the 
railway station. A great weight was lifted from the 
congregation when the rector, looking dreadfully shaken 
but relieved, came back to resume his interrupted serv- 
ice. It was the corpse of another volunteer whom they 
had mistaken for his boy. 

Nothing in the war, perhaps, excepting the surrender, 
ever struck Richmond with such stunning force as the 
announcement of Stonewall Jackson's fall, of the am- 
putation of his arm, and finally of his death, following 
the battle of Chancellorsville. Even the brilliant vic- 
tory of our arms was in total eclipse by this irreparable 
loss. From the first, when the shy Puritan professor 
of the Virginia Military Institute had startled the armies 
by his extraordinary daring and military skill, Jackson 
had taken hold of the popular mind as a supreme fa- 
vorite. "Old Stonewall," "Old Jack," or "Old Blue 
Light" was by the soldiers held in the reverence be- 
stowed by Napoleon's grenadiers upon the person of 
their sacred emperor. With Lee and Jackson to the 
fore, quiet people sitting in their homes felt themselves 
behind two massive towers of strength facing and 
meeting every adverse wind. 

Because it has somewhat passed out of memory, I 
insert here Dr. J. W. Palmer's stirring lyric, "Stonewall 
Jackson's Way." No man who writes a taking war 
song can realize its power until he hears it soar up in a 
mighty chorus of men's voices, fired by its eloquence. 
How many a time have I played the accompaniment 



RECOLLECnONS, GRAVE AND GAY 139 

for this, sitting at the piano, surrounded by a ring of 
bronzed, rusty, gray-coated veterans, young in years but 
old in bloody service, singing with martial fire! It was 
set to music, by whom I know not, as I have lost my 
copy of the song. 

STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY 

FOUND ON THE BODY OF A SERGEANT OF THE OLD STONEWALL 
BRIGADE, WINCHESTER, VIRGINIA. 

Come, Stack arms, men! Pile on the rails; 

Stir up the camp fire bright; 
No matter if the canteen fails, 

We'll make a warring night. 
Here Shenandoah brawls along, 

There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong 
To swell the Brigade's rousing song 

Of "Stonewall Jackson's way." 

We see him now! — the old slouched hat 

Cocked o'er his eye askew — 
The shrewd dry smile — the speech as pat — 

So calm, so blunt, so true. 
The Blue Light Elder knows o'er well; 

Says he, "That's Banks — he's fond of shell, 
Lord save his soul! — we'll give him — well, 

That's Stonewall Jackson's way!" 

Silence! ground arms. Kneel all! Caps off! 

Old Blue Light's going to pray. 
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff"! 

Attention! it's his way. 
Appealing from his native sod 

In forma pauperis to God — 
Lay bare thine arm; stretch forth thy rod, 

Amen! That's Stonewall's way. 



[40 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

He's in the saddle now. Fall in 

Steady — the whole brigade! 
Hill's at the ford cut off. We'll win 

His way out, ball and blade. 
What matter if our shoes are worn; 

What matter if our feet are torn, 
"Quick step," we're with him before dawn . 

That's Stonewall Jackson's way. 

The sun's bright lances rout the mists 

Of morning, and by George 
There's Longstreet struggling in the lists, 

Hemmed in an ugly gorge. 
Pope and his Yankees, whipped before, 

"Bay 'net and grape," hear Stonewall roar. 
"Charge Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score," 

In Stonewall Jackson's way. 

Ah! maiden, wait and watch, and yearn, 

For news of Stonewall's band. 
Ah! widow! read with eyes that burn 

That ring upon thy hand. 
Ah! wife, sew on, pray on, hope on, 

Thy life shall not be all forlorn; 
The foe had better ne'er been born 

Than get in Stonewall's way. 

And now, Stonewall Jackson, Lee's right arm, was 
dead of his wounds received, by the awful irony of Fate, 
at the hands of his own men. Dead ? He, the stern 
Puritan leader, who, when he rose up from wrestling in 
prayer, launched himself like a destroying thunderbolt 
against the foe! He, whose sword never lay idle in its 
scabbard, whose iron frame had not once sought re- 
pose during all those months of fighting — who saved the 
day at Manassas, by standing like a stone wall and won 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAV 141 

himself a deathless sobriquet; who had fought and 
won so many desperate fights, independently, in the 
Valley; who had smitten McClellan's flank with fury at 
Seven Pines — Jackson, to follow whom the flower of our 
Southern youths were proud to suffer all things — this, 
indeed, was a blow under which his country staggered. 

When they brought his body from the place of his 
death to Richmond, all citizens were in the streets, 
standing uncovered, silent or weeping bitterly, to see the 
funeral train pass to the Capitol. 

We were admitted privately late at night into the hall, 
where the great leader lay in state. Two guards, pacing 
to and fro in the moonlight streaming through high win- 
dows, alone kept watch over the hero. A lamp burned 
dimly at one end of the hall, but we saw distinctly the 
regular white outline of the quiet face in its dreamless 
slumber. 

How still he lay, the iron chieftain, the fierce, untir- 
ing rider of Valley raids! The Confederate flag that 
covered him was snowed under by the masses of white 
blossoms left that day by all the fair hands of Richmond, 
together with laurel wreaths and palms. 

And then, Gettysburg! Mourning fell like a pall of 
crape over the entire South, even though beneath it 
hearts thrilled with deathless pride in the charge of 
Pickett's Virginians. 

In the middle of the hottest season of the year, Hetty 
and I went into King William County, far as yet from 
war's alarms, to stay at an old house surrounded by plan- 
tations of sorghum and cotton, by means of which its 
owners hoped to resist the outside pressure of blockade. 
The cotton crop, unfamiliar to our eyes, was a beautiful 
one, from its blossoms of a delicate lemon tint, to the boll, 
opening to disclose a fairy fall of snow. We took our 



142 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

first lessons in spinning from an expert old darky 
woman in the '* quarter," and also in weaving the stuffs 
required to clothe the small army of blacks on the es- 
tate. In her cabin we tasted watermelon molasses, and 
were regaled with genuine ash-cake, wrapped in cab- 
bage leaves, baked under hickory embers upon the 
hearth, and served with fresh butter and foaming milk, 
by way of what she called "des a little snack, honey, to 
keep yer strength up." 

What a pretty scene met our gaze as we stood in the 
doorway of the spinning-woman's hut! Two rows of 
whitewashed cabins, bowered in foliage and overgrown 
with morning-glory and scarlet runner, each having its 
neat patch of ground with corn, sweet potatoes, tomatoes, 
and cabbage — ("Their vegetables beat mine all hol- 
low!" laughingly said the mistress of the house) — the 
walks between, like the floors of the cabins, swept as 
clean as the decks of a man-of-war. In chairs before 
their doors sat the patriarchs of both sexes, looking 
out for numerous little darkies who romped and kicked 
in the sunshine. No sign here of the horrors for 
which John Brown had died on the scaffold at Harper's 
Ferry ! 

All my observation of the colored folk that summer 
kept me wondering if they could be happier free. For 
years after the war I kept coming upon wretched home- 
sick specimens of their class in New York, praying aid 
and counsel of us Southerners of the old regime, in whom 
they instinctively trusted more than in their representa- 
tive abolition friends. One of the best women I ever 
knew, a lecturer and missionary to her race, said to me 
once: "Some of these people call me 'Miss' and ask 
me to sit down in their grand parlors in satin chairs 
while they tell me how well off my people are. Your 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 143 

kind says, 'You, Susan Jones! you're just wet through, 
tramping the streets; go straight downstairs to my 
kitchen and get dry and have your dinner.' " 

The maid specially detailed to attend to us at the 
"gret hus" came one night about nine o'clock to my 
room on the ground floor in the wing, to conduct me 
to the quarter where I had promised to read the Bible 
to a few "church members" in the cabin of our spin- 
ning friend. We went down long paths lit by the stars 
alone and embalmed with the scent of sweet flowers after 
dark; and to my dismay found the quarter in a state 
of advanced preparation for an "event." The cabin 
where I was to read, its inner walls lined with pictures 
cut from magazines, was brilliant with the glare from 
pitch-pine torches set in the fireplace, while a couple of 
tallow candles, in brass candlesticks, illumined the pages 
of the Holy Book, laid open on a spotless pine table be- 
side a split-bottomed arm-chair. Every available space 
inside and out of the house was filled with negroes in 
Sunday best, their black, cream, or chocolate faces look- 
ing in at windows and open door. In the foliage out- 
side, fire-flies were glancing. Near by, a whippoorwill 
was calling. Not another sound broke the stillness 
as I, in great embarrassment, began to read. 

Soon my equanimity was disturbed by an old woman 
who sat in the corner rocking her body to and fro. 
"That's so! Bress Jesus!" she cried out piercingly, 
and this was the beginning of a fusillade of pious ejacu- 
lations, grunts, and moans, which I could end only by 
shutting the Book and desiring an ancient elder in their 
church to lead in prayer. Once I could repeat — I have 
forgotten them now — his words, extraordinarily pic- 
turesque, at times vividly eloquent. To my surprise, 
he prayed for the stricken Southern country and for 



144 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

"our pore sufferin' soldiers in the camps and on the 
march." He prayed for their "dear old mistis," for 
everybody present, some specially mentioned, for their 
reader, in very flattering and touchingly grateful terms, 
and, lastly, for that "hoary old sinnah Uncle Si, settin' 
ober da on his own do'-step this blessed minit, hearin' 
what was read an' scornin' God's Holy Word, he hade 
a-whitenin' fur de grabe, he soul a-ripenin' for hell's 
dark do'." 

The climax bringing about a perfect tumult of groans 
and piously abusive comments upon pagan Uncle Si, I 
was able to make my escape. Susan told me afterward, 
that the quarter had "no use for Uncle Si, anyways" 
and had taken this occasion to administer a public 
rebuke. The meeting was kept up till nearly morning. 

From that time I was always the recipient of smiles, 
kind words, and little gifts from the quarter. A wooden 
bowl of luscious peaches, fresh from the tree, would be 
poked through my open window of a morning; or flowers, 
a couple of fresh eggs, a bag of chenquapins, and even 
a fat sweet potato, left upon the sill. 

The portly cook (whose price was far above rubies!) 
lost her husband, and on the following Sunday gave him 
an imposing funeral: returning from which she was es- 
corted, arm-in-arm, by the deacon who had performed 
the ceremony, an enterprising fellow with an eye to the 
rich pickings from the "gret hus" kitchen. The fol- 
lowing Sunday they were married amid much rejoicing. 
Emily, a trim little housemaid, used to petition me to 
write letters to her fiance, Tom, a neighbor's "boy," 
who had followed his young master to the war. In one 
of these epistles I was requested, with many giggles, to 
tell Tom "yes, please, young mistis." On beseeching 
her to supply words for this avowal, she threw her apron 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 145 

over her head and, tittering, observed: "Why, don' you 
know. Miss ? Jes' de way you does it yerself!" 

When I wound up the epistle by bidding Tom "God 
speed in his efforts to seek the bubble reputation in the 
quartermaster's department," and asked if she liked 
the phrase, Emily smiled rapturously. "Why, laws. 
Miss, I jes knowed you'd turn it off someway grand." 
Another year, Emily and Tom waited on me in grati- 
tude for my share in their newly wedded bliss. 

We went to a "baptism" in a lovely mill-pond and 
saw the sable clergyman stand knee deep in water beside 
a little island, beckoning in one after another of the can- 
didates. One of these, proving obstinate to his appeal, 
remained goggle-eyed upon the bank, staring toward the 
preacher, when the latter called out persuasively: "Why 
does yo' tarry, brother .? Why don't yo' come to glory .? 
What is it that yo' fear?" 

"I'se afeard o' that darned little moccasin on de lawg 
'longside o'you," was the answer, and with one bound, 
not stopping to look back, the celebrant gathered up his 
skirts and made for the shore and safety. 

When we came to leave our sweet asylum for the 
stern realities and short commons of Richmond, there 
was an overhauling of our trunks to find what we could 
afford to give away to Susan and Emily, and an old crone 
from the quarter, tottering up to our outer door, looked 
in longingly at the unpacking. A certain antique petti- 
coat of changeable pigeon's-neck silk, used in some of my 
theatricals, captured her fancy mightily. (A similar 
one was offered me recently in the show-room of a fash- 
ionable dressmaker in Paris.) Finally, she told me if 
I would let her have it she would "pay me out" with a 
turkey sent to Richmond as soon as hers were fit to kill. 
I gave old Dilsey the garment and forgot it. In the late 



146 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

autumn one day, a quaint old back country wagon 
stopped at our door in town, and the darky driver 
brought in a box containing not only a splendid fat 
turkey, but a fine supply of sweet potatoes, some apples, 
and a bag of chestnuts, with "Dilsey's sarvice, please 
mistis, and she hopes you find them good eatin'." 

Good eating! Conquering a strong temptation to 
send the whole box to the hospital, we committed the rash 
act of giving a dinner party. None of us had in months 
tasted fowl of any kind, and the result was a dazzling 
success. The cordon bleu whose services we claimed 
covered herself with glory. I fail to recall any of the 
guests save our neighbor lodging in the same house, 
Mr. Robert Dobbin of Baltimore, who accepted, on 
condition that he might bring with him a round of 
Maryland spiced beef, which had just dropped like 
manna upon his path. He came, bearing his con- 
tribution in a large china dish, made himself most witty 
and agreeable, and at the close of our banquet with- 
drew, carrying the remainder of his beef, at my mother's 
insistent request. 

Upon our return to town that autumn, owing to Gen- 
eral Meade's ruminant attitude and the consequent in- 
action of our troops, the streets and our drawing-rooms 
were well filled with gray figures wearing stars, bars, 
scrolls, and other insignia of military rank. The daily 
increasing need of wearing apparel for women brought 
about a wide range of inventions to meet the demands of 
the entertainments, on all sides given and shared in. 
My one new evening dress of the war, bought in our raid 
on Washington and sent through the lines by friends, had 
been reserved for the smartest party of the season (given 
by the "Scotch" Aliens in the spacious old house that 
sheltered Poe's wayward youth, the home of his adop- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 147 

tive father, Mr. John Allen) where there was to be, won- 
der of wonders, a supper with, it was whispered by gos- 
sips, ten thousand dollars worth of champagne! My 
dearest mother had worked all day at the alterations 
necessary in my gown, and I entered the rooms feeling 
as much puffed up with pride as pet Marjorie's turkey. 
In the agitation of offering some one beyond me in the 
supper-room a plate of real creamed oysters and chicken- 
salad, a man spilt its entire contents over my luckless 
gown, irrevocably ruining it. Nothing could be done 
to restore the soiled and spotted breadths, since, from 
Richmond, French cleaners were absent. A minor 
tragedy, but one that sank deep in my soul! 

Hope springs eternal, and for the next evening re- 
ception at Mr. Stanard's, where one was sure to meet the 
cream of society and all distinguished visitors to the 
capital, we fell upon a new device. Two venerable 
dresses in the family repertory, a fawn and a brown silk, 
were ripped, pressed, laid upon patterns of the latest 
date, per underground, and trimmed with double-pinked 
quillings of the same materials, dispersed ingeniously 
in curley-cues upon the skirt and "postilion bodice." 
We had invented, pinked, ruffled, and sewed ourselves 
into a state of exhaustion, when at ten o'clock at night 
the last stitch was set, and I soon stood arrayed in 
what at casual glance seemed a brand-new modish 
toilette. My way into Mrs. Stanard's drawing-rooms 
was made glad by hearing other girls whisper that I 
had got another new dress by blockade. But I took 
care, during the evening, to sit in sequestered spots, not 
daring to stand anywhere near the central chandeliers. 

Early next morning came Mrs. Coulter Cabell's maid, 
carrying a neat little oil-skin covered basket and a note 
from her mistress — renowned for her elegance in dress 



148 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

— to ask if I would mind letting her take the pattern of 
my charming "postilion," which should be returned in 
half an hour. Alas! poor me! Full well I knew that 
in daylight all the pressed places, pieced places, washed 
and ironed quillings, the age and expedients of that 
presumptuous garment would stand revealed! But I 
bravely lent it, and the poor dear fraud came back with- 
in the stipulated time! 

I went to Cary Street to make a visit to Mrs. Chest- 
nut, in whom Hetty and I delighted. Although she might 
well have been my mother, I never felt the difference in 
age, so gay and sprightly was she as a comrade, leading 
all the fun and nonsense in our talk. I found her with 
the Preston girls and others, lamenting that she 
hadn't a bonnet of any kind to wear in full dress. 
The few milliners of the town were asking 1^500 for 
hats made of the homeliest materials from ** other side" 
patterns. She had heard of my knack at millinery. 
Wouldn't I advise her and earn her undying gratitude .? 
So we all went into dear, laughing Mrs. Chestnut's 
chamber, where the bed was soon strewn with wrecks 
and relics of her Washington finery. I selected and 
another girl ripped up an old velvet bodice, mignonette 
green in hue, a point lace barbe, and some sprays of 
artificial nasturtiums, pale yellow and old gold, and 
set to work to shape over an old bonnet frame. It 
was a rainy day; Mrs. Chestnut begged me to stay for 
luncheon, and, amid a feu de jo'ie of fun and droll say- 
ings from those clever women, I worked on till, what- 
ever may be thought by scornful latter-day maidens, 
a very stylish and becoming head-piece was evolved. 

Mrs. Chestnut declared she wore it with pride to 
every function of state or fashion afterward. If I had 
possessed the mercantile spirit of some London great 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 149 

ladies of to-day, I might, after that initial success, have 
set up a millinery on my own account; but the epoch of 
commercialism in society had yet to come. 

Just as I had put the finishing touch on my work, 
Colonel Chestnut came in, saying he must be off at once 
with the President to inspect fortifications, as the enemy 
were within a few miles of Richmond. A tremendous 
roar of cannon began and continued at intervals all the 
afternoon. I helped Mrs. Chestnut to solace her war- 
rior with sandwiches for the fray, and we saw him off on 
horseback, returning to every-day matters quite calmly, 
so used had we become to such happenings. Burton 
Harrison told me that in these rides of inspection, his 
chief, mounted on the white Arab stallion, always led 
the staff as close to the ragged edge of danger as was 
humanly possible, having an apparent longing to escape 
from official thraldom and return to the risks of his days 
of soldiering. But for all that, Mr. Davis would not 
allow his private secretary, whom he treated in every 
respect as a son, to indulge in his own ardent wish to 
resign his position with the Executive and enlist in the 
army. Twice during the four years of war, Mr. Harri- 
son (styled colonel by the President, as a member of his 
personal staff) offered his resignation, and was asked 
to withdraw it in deference to the wishes of his chief, 
who used these words: "I can get many men to serve 
me in the field, but no one who will take your place." 

It was assuredly an interesting post held by the young 
graduate of Yale, so unexpectedly summoned to the 
innermost councils of the Confederate President. Be- 
fore him daily deployed the chief actors of the Southern 
side of the mightiest struggle of modern warfare; under 
his hands passed the most secret reports and instruc- 
tions, going to and from statesmen and military leaders; 



150 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

he lived, literally, in the heart of a thrilling crisis. Dur- 
ing the whole period of the war and in the trying times 
thereafter, his tact, vivid intelligence, and high courtesy 
enabled him to preserve cordial relations Vv^ith all those 
associated in his life, friends and foes alike; and this, I 
think, there will be no one to gainsay. 

To return to my chronicle of Richmond gayeties. Now 
was instituted the "Starvation Club," of which, as one 
of the original founders, I can speak with authority. It 
was agreed between a number of young women that a 
place for our soldier visitors to meet with us for dancing 
and chat, once a week, would be a desirable variation 
upon evening calls in private homes. The hostesses 
who successively offered their drawing-rooms were 
among the leaders in society. It was also decided that 
w^e should permit no one to infringe the rule of suppress- 
ing all refreshment, save the amber-hued water from 
the classic James. We began by having piano music for 
the dances, but the male members of the club made up 
between them a subscription providing a small but good 
orchestra. Before our first meeting, a committee of 
girls waited on General Lee to ask his sanction, with 
this result to the spokeswoman, who had ended with: 
" If you say no, general, we won't dance a single step!" 
"Why, of course, my dear child. My boys need to be 
heartened up w^hen they get their furloughs. Go on, 
look your prettiest, and be just as nice to them as ever 
you can be!" 

We even had cotillons, to which everybody contrib- 
uted favors. The gatherings were the jolliest imagina- 
ble. We had constant demands to admit new members, 
and all foreigners and general officers who visited Rich- 
mond were presented to our club, as a means of view- 
ing the best society of the South. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 151 

In summoning ''spirits from the vasty deep" to 
record upon these pages, I had occasion to address a 
question or two, in writing, to a friend of yore, a Vir- 
ginian who has identified himself with the best intel- 
lectual achievement in his State, since the sword he bore 
through all the battles delivered by the Army of North- 
ern Virginia was laid aside to gather the rust of peace- 
ful years. If it be a crime to quote a passage from the 
letter he sent me in return, I cry "Peccavi," swearing 
that I will never reveal his name. No one else living, 
perhaps, could have written it, and its insertion here is 
my best excuse. 

"Lord! Lord! What a dazzling, wholesome high- 
bred little society it was! Night after night, I galloped 
into town to attend dances, charades, what not .? and 
did not get back to my camp until two — three — what 
matter the hour ^ — but was always up, fresh as paint, 
when the reveille bugles blev^, and when, a little later on, 
my first sergeants reported to me as adjutant with their 
Battery Reports. 

"To you and to me, looking back, it was such a blend- 
ing of a real "Heroic Age" and a real "Golden Age" as 
could come but once in a million years. Everybody 
knew everybody (in the highest sense of that phrase), and 
there was youth, and beauty, and devotion, and splen- 
did daring, a jealous honor and an antique patriotism, 
an utter self-abnegation and utter defiance of fate, a 
knightly chastity and beautiful surrender (of the coyest 
maid when her love was going to certain death). God ! 
what a splendid high society that little handful was! 
Oh I I never talk of it now. People would only say, 
*Why there wasn't one of them worth ^100,000.' 

"I wish I could tell you something, because, as Owen 
Meredith sings, 'old ties, they cling, they cling.' But 



152 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

I scarce remember anything of that briUiant winter 
except that I went everywhere, that *the Queen' was 

most gracious to me, and that John S , and C. 

de L , and I were said to be the best 'round dancers,' 

as they were called then, in the world (think of that!); 

also that I was very much in love with Miss 

(I was afraid to be in love with the Queen, because my 

dearest, dearest L R had said to me at the 

University of Virginia that he'd 'offer up to instant death 
any caitiff who ever dared look at her'); and then with 

Miss , and remotely with Miss . It's all very 

vague, but I have an uneasy remembrance that I was 
engaged to all of them, and that when the bugles sounded 
in the early spring, I went to the front with a hang-dog 
but a joyful heart!" 

Wonderful were the toilettes concocted that festal 
winter. Maternal party dresses that had done duty at 
Newport, Saratoga, Sharon, the White Sulphur Springs, 
and in Washington and New Orleans ball-rooms, were 
already worn to rags. One of them would be made to 
supply the deficiencies of the other until both passed 
into thin air. The oft-told stories of damask curtains 
taken down to fabricate into court trains over petticoats 
of window curtain lace, and of mosquito nettings made 
up over pink or blue cambric slips, now took shape. 
Certain it is that girls never looked prettier or danced 
with more perfect grace than those shut-in war maidens, 
trying to obey the great general's behest and look their 
prettiest for the gallant survivors of his legions. 

If one were to trust the melancholy old faded vig- 
nette photographs and cartes-de-visite of the sixties, any 
statement as to the beauty of the women might be taken 
with polite acquiescence but interior doubt. Before 
writing my memories, I have looked over dozens of these 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 153 

waifs of a long gone era, and in hardly one do I see more 
than a faint suggestion of the beauty of the original. 
To read descriptions brimming over with laudatory ad- 
jectives, and then turn to the portrait of the subject, 
brings in most cases a downfall of enthusiasm. It is 
always with a sigh of regret that I turn away from the 
illustrations of the belles of the Confederacy embalmed 
in the agreeable and sprightly volumes of recollections 
published of late years. 

Of the women who were most in evidence in the 
Confederate capital, I have already spoken of Mrs. 
Davis and her sister and adoptive daughter, Margaret 
Howell. The ladies of General Lee's family lived in a 
pleasant house in lower Franklin Street, then and after- 
ward held as a shrine in the eyes of patriotic pilgrims. 
Mrs. Robert E. Lee, not strong in health and always a 
reserved woman in society, rarely showed herself in gen- 
eral gatherings. Miss Mary Custis Lee, who has for 
years been known to the exclusive circles of foreign cap- 
itals, having spent most of her latter life abroad, took 
the post of receiving and entertaining the friends and 
admirers who thronged around their doors. The death 
of a beloved daughter during the war, followed by that 
of Mrs. Fitzhugh Lee and her children, while her hus- 
band was in prison in the North, placed the family in 
mourning, disqualifying them for conspicuous appear- 
ance in society. Also, it was understood that Mrs. Lee 
felt a sense of impropriety in the suggestion that the 
wife and daughters of the commanding general of 
half-starved armies, himself sleeping always in a tent 
and living on ascetic fare, should take the lead in any 
entertainments of a social sort; so the old elegant hos- 
pitality of Arlington House, which had opened its 
doors to so many in the past, was allowed to pass 



154 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

away, to be renewed, however, at their future home in 
Lexington. 

Mrs. Joseph E. Johnston, coming of the distinguished 
McLane family of Baltimore, had a little court of her 
own, in later days rather antagonistic to the ruling power 
of the Confederate White House, it was said. 

Two daughters of Judge John Archibald Campbell, 
late of the Supreme Court of Washington — Mrs. Lay, 
and Miss Mary Ellen Campbell who married Arthur 
Pendleton Mason, of Colross, Alexandria — were an im- 
portant element in the social side of Richmond life. To 
no one memory of those days do I turn now, with kind- 
lier feeling, than to that of handsome and original 
Mary Ellen Campbell, who was one of my chosen 
friends. 

The family of General John S. Preston, of Columbia, 
South Carolina, who had left a beautiful rose-embowered 
home to share the weal or woe of the Confederacy, was 
installed in a small undistinguished house in Franklin 
Street. It consisted of the handsome aristocratic 
parents, two sons in the army, and three daughters, 
like goddesses upon a heaven-kissing hill, tall and 
stately, with brilliant fresh complexions, altogether the 
embodiment of vigorous health. 

I met two of this beautiful trio in Paris after the war, 
where they occupied, with their parents, a residence in 
the Rue Lord Byron, receiving and received by the best 
of French society, with the same grace they brought to 
our happy-go-lucky refugee existence in Richmond. 

Our good neighbors at Vaucluse, the Samuel Coopers, 
had removed to Richmond, where the general, albeit of 
Northern birth, had elected to serve the South. Made 
adjutant-general of the Confederate Government, he 
was much esteemed by his confreres and the public. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 155 

His wife, born as the nineteenth century came in, Hved 
for many years after the war at "Cameron," her home 
in Fairfax, with her son and daughter, a picture of old- 
time dignity and high breeding in her late eventide of 
life. Their daughter, afterward Mrs. Dawson, fair 
and thoroughbred, with a charming frankness of speech 
and manner, was one of my coadjutors in the founding 
of the Starvation Club, and with the joyous hours of 
my Confederate experience her image blends pleasingly. 

Commodore Sydney Smith Lee, son of "Light Llorse 
Harry" and brother of General Lee, had married a sis- 
ter of Mrs. Cooper. No one can forget the illumining 
brightness and cheery sympathy of Mrs. S. S. Lee, who 
had given all her stalwart sons to the Southern service, 
from "General Fitz," always in the forefront of danger, 
to handsome "Midshipman Dan," my brother's mess- 
mate and pal in many a bit of risky naval service, now 
a settled but by no means subdued paterfamilias, living 
on his own acres near Fredericksburg, Virginia. 

Mrs. Chestnut, known to the world through the post- 
humous publication of letters revealing her strength, 
sweetness, and vivacity of mind, was a fixed star in the 
refugee circle of Richmond. The delightful Harrisons, 
of Brandon, gave over their historic home upon the 
James to the shelling of General Butler's gun-boats and 
subsequent occupation by bats and birds and squirrels, 
and came to live in Linden Row. Mrs. George Harrison, 
formerly the beautiful Gulielma Gordon, of Savannah, 
had just come to them as a bride. Mrs. Myers, daugh- 
ter of General Twiggs, of New Orleans, and youthful 
wife of General A. S. Myers, quartermaster-general of 
the Confederacy, bewitched men and women alike. 
When, just after the war, my mother and I took up our 
abode at the Ville au Bois, a villa of apartments at 



156 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Neuilly, General and Mrs. Myers and their little daugh- 
ter came to live there also, and made a large part of the 
pleasure of our Parisian days. Mrs. Clement Clay, of 
Alabama, was ever foremost in providing things clever 
and original for the diversion of her friends. Mrs. Alfred 
Barbour, wife of General Johnston's chief quartermaster, 
with her sister. Miss Frances Daniel, later, wife of my 
cousin John Brune Cary, of Baltimore, were among the 
blooming young beauties of the day. Pretty Miss Lizzie 
Peyton Giles, came through the hnes from St. Louis, 
reputedly to marry a Confederate general, bearing with 
her sheaves in the shape of a trousseau of smart and ad- 
mirably fitting gowns. To our disappointment, the 
promised wedding was declared "off," but since we 
kept the bride and she kept her finery to delight us, no 
great harm was done to our feelings. Colonel and Mrs. 
Eugene McLean, she ever bright and sparkling, w^ere 
much in evidence. My room-mate of the Lefebvre 
school-days, pretty and outspoken Evelyn Cabell, who 
sang like a bird, had already married young Russell 
Robinson, of Richmond, and was disproving the state- 
ment that a Southern matron, however few of years, 
cannot hope to retain the belleship of her former estate. 
And apropos of this assertion, it was said that the 
elegant Captain John Moncure Robinson, of Philadel- 
phia, recently arrived from European travel and pos- 
sessing a wide range of social experience, had announced 
that his real mission in benighted Richmond was to 
introduce the German cotillon and bring out the young 
married women. What Captain Robinson actually did 
was to marry Miss Champe Conway, one of the prettiest 
of the more youthful set! 

It is hard to write of the living save in stilted and 
self-conscious phrase; but who could depict the days of 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 157 

war in Richmond, and omit those two cousins, Jennie 
Pegram (now Mrs. Mcintosh, of Baltimore) and Mattie 
Paul, whose marriage to Captain William Myers was one 
of the interesting occurrences of that time ! So blended 
are they both in my memory with the long procession of 
friends who have passed over the river and rest under 
the shade of ever-living trees, that I know not whether 
to mention them in sad or joyous words. But even under 
the stress of that terrible hand of steel that for four years 
held us down, we had many bright hours together. 

Most of the people I have cited were in our own class 
of refugees. Of the resident families, many of them 
abiding in the wide old ample houses, set back from 
the street in gardens of redundant bloom and foliage, 
w^ith magnolia trees guarding the portals, that we would 
pass in our walks envying their suggestion of home 
delights, the list is longer. Not only do their names 
represent, to any student of Americana, the direct out- 
growth of the best Colonial stock, but it would have 
been hard to find a group of gentle-folk better equipped 
to conduct the functions of good society. 

A very young person who had been reading with avid- 
ity some of the domestic war chronicles printed in latter 
days, asked me quite gravely if it were true that every 
man of that period was handsome, clever, and a paladin 
of bravery, and every woman a radiant belle and beauty. 
We all know how% as described in family letters and 
on tombstones, our grandmothers and great-aunts, our 
grandfathers and the uncles who died young, have 
seemed to our imagination to wear separate little haloes. 
It behoves me, therefore, to touch lightly upon the 
charms and virtues of those old-time citizens of Rich- 
mond, and to let adjectives of praise remain embalmed 
in the rosemary of individual recollection. 



158 RFXOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

The Macfarland house in Grace Street was running 
over with young and winsome women; including Miss 
Turner Macfarland, who married Colonel Wilcox 
Brown, with her cousins, the Bierne sisters and Mrs. 
Parkman, like tiny Dresden figurines, the latter early 
a war-widow, clad in deep sables, and rarely seen in 
pubHc. Miss Bierne Turner, the fifth of that group of 
charmers, married Colonel John S. Saunders, of Balti- 
more, where they lived for many years. Miss Betty 
Bierne became the wife of the Hon. Wm. Porcher Miles 
in the autumn of 1862, and Miss Susan Bierne married 
Captain Henry Robinson, of Georgetown. 

With the hospitable dwelling of Mr. Barton Haxall 
in Grace Street, I had been made familiar through my 
friendship at Lefebvre's school with Harriet Haxall, later 
Mrs. Henry A. Wise, Jr. Miss Lucy Haxall, the eldest 
daughter of the house, who married Captain Edward 
Lees Coffey, an Irish officer volunteering for Confederate 
service, later lived and died in New York, where her 
daughter Edwalyn met and married Mr. Charles de Kay, 
author and poet. Charlotte Haxall, the first wife of 
Captain Robert E. Lee, died early; Mrs. Wise, whose 
son, Barton Haxall Wise, wrote an excellent life of his 
grandfather, the fiery and virile ex-governor, later Brig- 
adier-General Henry A. Wise, of Virginia, passed away 
in the prime of matronhood. Captain Philip Haxall 
married Mary Triplett, of Richmond, whom I last saw 
at an entertainment given for the first Mrs. WilHam 
Whitney and myself at General Joseph Anderson's in 
Richmond. When Mrs. Whitney, all enthusiasm over 
her glimpse of the South and its society, on our jour- 
ney from Washington to Florida, beheld the famous 
Richmond beauty, she whispered to me: "Here is one 
that more than realizes what has been said of her!" 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 159 

Fair as the lilies of the valley bordering her corsage, 
dressed in a gown of white satin moulded to her beauti- 
ful form, with gleaming eyes and a wonderful pink flush 
on her cheeks, so I like to think of the Mary Haxall 
ere long to pass away in her sleep from heart trouble, 
leaving no child to endow with her heritage of beauty. 

One of the younger set represented by Miss Trip- 
lett, whose name was oftenest heard bracketed with 
hers, was Miss Lizzie Cabell, now Mrs. Albert Ritchie, 
of Baltimore. Miss Mattie Ould, daughter of General 
Robert Ould, belonged to this group of girls who 
came on late in the war. Good-looking, well 
placed and connected, this young girl stands out on the 
background of the day as a spontaneous wit and suave 
talker on any subject, one of those who, like Mile. Julie 
de Lespinasse in the salons of old France, would have 
found her special chronicler. But the sayings and 
repartees left behind at Mattie Ould's death seem to me 
spoiled by handling, and such as I have seen in print 
really give no idea of the girl's inimitable drollery and 
continual play of wit. The home of Dr. Charles Bell 
Gibson on Grace Street was a haunt of clever and 
responsive people, welcomed and inspired by Mrs. 
Gibson and her daughter Mary, to whose credit were 
circulated many hon mots and amusing strictures on 
things current. 

I think we all fancied that Mrs. Robert Stanard 
came nearer to realizing the French ideal of a salon than 
any other hostess in Richmond. She was a widow, 
reputed wealthy and of considerable personal distinc- 
tion, handsome, dark-eyed, and wondrously persuasive 
with the other sex, who came when she called and left 
promptly when she gave token of a change of mood. 
After the war Mrs. Stanard was heard of in various 



i6o RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

places abroad, always received with the cordiality be- 
fitting her recognized position as a leader in her own 
home. We knew her in New York after she became 
Mrs. Robb, and to the last she maintained the grace- 
fully imperious manner of the admitted sovereign — a 
" she-who-must-be-obeyed " to all around her. 

At Mrs. Stanard's one saw much of Mr. Pierre Soule, 
of New Orleans, dark, suave, courtier-like, diplomatic 
in little things and big ones. Mr. Benjamin brought 
there his charming stories, his dramatic recitations of 
scraps of verse, and clever comments on men, women, 
and books. The Vice-President, Mr. Alexander H. 
Stephens, rarely seen in other houses — spare, worn, pun- 
gent — dropped in upon her sometimes; our brilliant 
friend Mr. L. Q. C. Lamar lent the witchery of his pres- 
ence; all the foreigners in town made speed to attend 
her evenings; statesmen and soldiers, old and young, 
came into the circle of her magnetism. Needless to 
add, the women of Richmond were not slow in availing 
themselves of her none too profuse invitations. 

Mrs. Pegram's house in Linden Row was another 
centre for pleasant gatherings. Her daughter, Miss 
Mary Pegram, and her younger daughter Jennie, aided 
this gentle lady in doing the honors of a home which was 
also to give to the Confederacy two of the fixed stars in 
its military firmament. General John Pegram, a West 
Point graduate, who fell at Hatcher's Run, near Peters- 
burg, commanding Early's old division, on February 6, 
1865, in almost the last battle of the war, was a noble 
and lovable fellow, and a fine officer. His marriage 
with my cousin, Hetty Cary, three weeks before his 
death, elsewhere told, was one of the tragedies of the 
time, unforgettable by those who shared in it. His 
brother, William Pegram, going into service aged 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY i6i 

nineteen, at the outbreak of hostilities, and quickly 
attaining rank and reputation as an officer of the Pur- 
cell Battery, with which he took part in every general 
action fought by the Army of Northern Virginia from 
the first battle of Manassas to the surrender at Appo- 
mattox Court House, won brilliant fame as a soldier. 
Colonel Pegram came to his lamented death at the battle 
of Five Forks, while seated upon his charger cheering 
his men to victory. The loss of these two valiant 
brothers, who sleep side by side in Hollywood, was 
keenly felt by Richmond, where their memory is still 
treasured as a heritage to succeeding generations of her 
citizens. 

Of other hospitable homes overshadowed by the sac- 
rifice of their best beloved in war, one was that of Colonel 
George Munford, secretary of the commonwealth, whose 
beautiful young son, Ellis, killed at Malvern Hill, was 
brought home in the dusk of evening, lying across his 
own caisson, and dehvered to his family sitting all un- 
conscious of their loss, upon the steps of their dwelling, 
seeking the cooler temperature that falls after dark in a 
Southern summer. 

Another home made desolate was that of Lieutenant- 
Colonel Bradfute Warwick, brought there to die of 
wounds received in the battle of Gaines's Mill, aged 
barely twenty-three, but with an experience in military 
service as full and brilliant as his fife was brief. Brad- 
fute Warwick, the son of a wealthy father, had just 
completed a journey in Europe and the East, when his 
daring spirit was attracted to volunteer with Garibaldi, 
in whose stirring campaign in Sicily he won high hon- 
ors. Upon the outbreak of war between the States, he 
hurried back to give his sword to Virginia, and was as- 
signed to his first service in the western part of the State. 



i62 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

In October, 1861, he received his appointment from 
President Davis as major of the Fourth Texas Regiment, 
upon the promotion of w^hose colonel. Hood, to be brig- 
adier-general, Warv^ick became lieutenant-colonel. At 
the battle near Barhamsville, called Elkton's Landing, 
he was conspicuous for gallant bearing and the resistless 
fury of his attack. During the battle of Gaines's Mill, 
at a moment w^hen the tide seemed to have turned against 
Confederate arms, three brigades having been broken to 
pieces in the attempt to storm the enemy's v^orks, Gen- 
eral Hood gave his old regiment preference to lead in a 
final desperate assault. The fall of Marshall, their 
colonel, just before the command to charge was heard, 
gave young Warwick the leadership of this band of 
splendid soldiers. His fierce and intrepid dash upon 
the enemy's breastworks, breaking both their lines, has 
been told as a tale to their children, by the two hundred 
and odd men who came alive out of the furious fire that 
had cut down as many more of their number. At the 
very moment of victory, when Colonel Warwick, seizing 
a battle-flag from its bearer, was about to plant it upon 
a captured battery, his right breast was pierced by a 
minie ball, and he fell mortally wounded. 

One of my favorite comrades on many a ride near 
Richmond was young Preston Hampton, a model of 
manly beauty, son of the gallant leader of cavalry, 
General Wade Hampton, of South Carolina. A feeling 
of poignant sorrow came into our home circle with the 
sad story of Preston Hampton's death while fighting 
beside his brother. Wade, as members of their father's 
Legion. It was said that the general, seeing his young- 
est son plunge forward, far in advance of his line of bat- 
tle, ordered Lieutenant Wade Hampton to "bring the 
boy back." The older son obeying, reached his brother 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 163 

as Preston fell from his saddle dead, and as he caught 
the body, was himself shot through the shoulder. The 
general, spurring toward them himself, lifted the dead 
boy from the brother's arms, kissed Preston's face, and 
commending his other son to his comrades, rode on into 
the fight, not knowing till the day's end whether Wade 
had lived or died. 

Of other Carolinians in service in Virginia, whom we 
were accustomed to meet often, were the seven Haskell 
brothers, renowned for gallantry in action and courtesy 
in the society of women; and Colonel, afterwards Gen- 
eral, Moxley Sorrel, slender, high-bred, and handsome, 
whose recent "Recollections of a Confederate Staff 
Officer," finished shortly before his death, narrates bet- 
ter than can I, the story of his valorous career. 

I never saw Miss Antoinette Polk until long after she 
had been the Baronne de la Charette, wife of the gallant 
and illustrious General Baron de Charette, leader of the 
Pope's zouaves, said to be to-day the most honored and 
beloved soldier of the old regime in France. I had the 
pleasure to be their guest at their chateau, La Basse 
Motte, near St. Malo, in Brittany, a few years since. 
She was one of the heroines of the sixties with whose 
beauty and romantic daring the Southern country rang. 
It was the general himself who told me, in rapid and 
dramatic French, this story of his wife's youth, while 
we were standing in the chapel of his chateau, hung 
with memorials and tattered banners of his own stirr- 
ing war life. She was a superb horsewoman, and one 
day she and a girl cousin rode six miles into Columbia, 
Tennessee, to find the town occupied by Union cavalry. 
Ashwood Hall, her father's home, was at the moment 
filled with young Confederate officers, all unconscious 
of the enemy's vicinity. Miss Polk, grasping the situa- 



i64 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

tion at a glance, decided to warn her friends. She and 
her cousin, turning their horses, started at a run for 
home, chased by a squad of United States soldiers, sus- 
pecting mischief. The tradition of this wild ride by 
two girls, "over brake and brier," till, as their horses 
began to show fatigue, they suddenly wheeled and 
jumped fences their pursuers dared not attempt, reach- 
ing Ashwood in time to save their kinsmen from capture 
and imprisonment, has been handed down wherever 
Baronne de Charette has carried her charming presence; 
and it is always added how beautiful she looked on 
arrival at her home, breathless and nearly spent, her 
hat and whip gone, her blonde hair falling all over her 
like a mantle. 

No picture of Richmond in war days would be his- 
toire veridique omitting the household of the Hon, 
Randolph Tucker, attorney-general of Virginia, the 
echo of whose fame as a wit, story-teller of rare skill, 
and a briUiant jurist, still echoes down the corridor of 
time in Washington as in Richmond. When I went 
from New York to Washington to visit the William C. 
Whitneys in H Street, while he was Secretary of the 
Navy, my host said to me: "I am getting together a 
dinner of the cleverest men and best fellows of my ac- 
quaintance, at which I wish you and my wife to be pres- 
ent, and whatever else is left out of it, there are two 
indispensables: Ran Tucker and an old Smithfield 
ham!" Mr. Tucker came to this dinner and, as a treat 
to me, was placed upon my right. Brilliantly did he 
justify his reputation in making the social wheels go 
round. One continued laugh accompanied the menu 
at our end of the table, but, as usual with table-talk, it 
was as hard to gather up as split globules of quick- 
silver. I remember we asked him if it were true they 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 165 

served coffee in large breakfast cups during the White 
House dinners in Mrs. Hayes's regime; and whether he 
had given to a course of Roman punch, frappe with 
brandy unknown to the good hostess and served in 
Httle boats of crystal, the name of " Life-Saving Station " ; 
but this he was too discreet a diplomatist to admit. 

My uncle, Dr. Fairfax, of Alexandria, had taken up 
his abode in Grace Street, in a small house, poor in con- 
trast with the broad generous one in Cameron Street, 
Alexandria, forsaken through patriotic motives. Here 
his oldest daughter, Monimia, was married to the Hon. 
George Davis, of Wilmington, North Carolina, attorney- 
general in Mr. Jefferson Davis's cabinet, a man of 
high character and mind, distinguished as a public 
servant in the broadest sense, to whose memory his city 
has recently erected a substantial monument. My 
cousin removed later to live a happy life in Wilmington, 
where her two daughters survive her. 



CHAPTER VIII 

NOW came the winter's lull before the new fury 
of the storm should break forth with the spring. 
It was evident to all older and graver people 
that the iron belt surrounding the Southern country was 
being gradually drawn closer and her vitality in mortal 
peril of exhaustion. Our armies were dwindling, those 
of the North increasing with every draft and the payment 
of liberal bounties. Starved, nearly bankrupt, thousands 
of our best soldiers killed in battle, their places filled 
by boys and old men, the Federal Government refusing 
to exchange prisoners; our exports useless because of 
armed ships closing in our ports all along the coast, our 
prospects were of the gloomiest, even though Lee had 
won victory for our banners in the East. We young ones, 
who knew nothing and refused to believe in "croakers," 
kept on with our valiant boasting about our invincible 
army and the like; but the end was beginning to be 
in sight. 

Christmas in the Confederacy offered as a rule little 
suggestion of the festival known to plum-pudding and 
robin-red-breast stories in annuals. Every crumb of 
food better than the ordinary, every orange, apple, or 
banana, every drop of wine and cordial procurable, 
went straightway to the hospitals, public or private. 
Many of the residents had set aside at least one room 
of their stately old houses as a hospital, maintaining at 
their own expense as many sick or wounded soldiers as 
they could accommodate. On Christmas eve, all the 

1 66 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 167 

girls and women turned out in the streets, carrying 
baskets with sprigs of holly, luckily plentiful, since the 
woods around Richmond still held its ruddy glow in 
spots where bullets had not despoiled the trees beyond 
recall. 

Our little household had been gladdened by the re- 
turn of our midshipman from Charleston, where he had 
been again on duty, and his re-establishment on board 
the "Old Pat," as their school-ship was called by the 
youngsters. Just here opened a delightful vision. We 
were all invited to spend Christmas at "The Retreat," 
in King William County, the way being then open and 
without danger of interruption, save by overfull rivers. 
The postscript to this agreeable epistle was brief, but 
to the point: "Bring your own gentlemen!" After 
much merriment in deciding whom this would include, 
the matter settled down into finding out who could be 
got to go. Of the limited supply of men who could 
get off for the jaunt, our friends Lee Tucker, naval pay- 
master, Confederate States and Captain Joseph De- 
negre, of the ordnance department, with my small brother, 
were happily found available, and in the gray dawn of a 
December morning we set off by train from Richmond. 
At the last minute it was discovered that Midshipman 
Cary had forgotten his passport, he and Mr. Tucker 
remaining behind to secure it, thus necessitating a walk 
next day of half the distance from the terminus of 
their railway journey, the rest of the way by a hired 
buggy. 

At our stopping-place, reached about 9 a.m. after a 
cold and joggling run by train, finding Uncle Nebuchad- 
nezzar, a Retreat darky, in waiting in a covered wagon 
lined with straw, we inquired of him the distance to the 
house. 



i68 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

"Well, mistis," he answered beamingly, **it mout be 
ten miles and then agin, it mout be twenty; some says 
one! some says t'other! but it's a right smart little bit; 
mebbe it's more, mebbe it's less, but sure as yer bawn, 
I disremembers." 

And "Sure as yer bawn, I disremembers," was in- 
corporated in our coteries prache from that moment. 
Whatever were the facts, evening found us still in the 
wagon, less buoyant than at the start. Our Confeder- 
ate ideas of pleasuring were on a limited scale compared 
with those of to-day, when parties of young people must 
have motors, fur coats, foot-warmers, and thermos 
vacuum bottles to facilitate their winter jaunts. When, 
toward sunset, we finally turned in at the Retreat gate, 
amid the barking of dogs and the rush out-doors of our 
glad hosts and their children, attended by scarcely less 
welcoming negroes, all woes were forgotten. Two min- 
utes later we were in enjoyment of intense physical re- 
lief, seated around a fire of generous logs sending out a 
glow that wrapped us in its warmth; and in half an hour 
we sat down to a table heaped with old-time luxuries: 
partridges, a sugar-cured ham, spare-ribs, and sausage — 
for those who knew what pork at the Retreat could be — 
corn-pone, biscuits, fresh, delicious butter, pitchers of 
mantling cream, and coffee, hot, rich, fragrant, tasting 
of the bean! We had literally no words! 

Dear, cheery little "Cousin Nannie," our hostess, 
despairing because Nebuchadnezzar had taken the 
wrong ford, thereby causing our delay and suffering, did 
not stop lamenting over us till we had eaten a disgrace- 
ful amount of supper. As soon as possible, she insisted 
that we girls should go to our rooms, and there, sinking 
into lavender-scented, linen-spread feather-beds, with 
a fire dancing itself out upon the hearth, and a smiling 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 169 

negro woman waiting to extinguish the candles, elysium 
was attained. Was it true — could such home comforts 
still be for us war-worn children of the Confederacy ? 
The last sounds in my waking ears were the patter of 
childish feet upon the landing, and a merry little golden- 
haired elf putting her head in at the door to cry, "I'll 
catch you, Christmas gift!" Then the strong, delicious 
aroma of forest greens from the hall below was wafted 
in as some one in authority captured the tiny invader 
and bore her off — and so — oblivion ! 

Next day, a quiet, cosey morning on a sofa wheeled up 
before the lire, with winter sunbeams glancing through 
crimson curtains into a room bowered in Christmas 
garlands. At mid-day a ramble through a forest heavy 
with pine odors, where a carpet of brown needles and 
dry twigs crackled musically under foot, amid currents 
of warm perfumed air; across denuded fields, where 
morning rime still glittered in fence corners upon the 
skeletons of last summer's wild flowers, and in the wide 
blue sky overhead crows wheeled and cawed — peace 
everywhere, peace infinite, no evil sight or sound to 
break the spell; and best of all, on our return to the 
house to find our two lost sheep of yesterday arrived 
and safe in the fold! To have had our boy miss that 
dinner would have robbed it of all savor. 

Such a dinner! Served at three o'clock p.m. (after 
a luncheon, at twelve, of cordials and cakes), the host at 
his end of the long table, dispensing an emperor among 
turkeys, "Cousin Nannie" at hers, engaged in carving 
another ham (that of the night before having already 
gone to its long rest among the house servants) — a ham 
befrilled with white paper, its pink slices cut thin as 
shavings, the fat having a nutty flavor — with cloves 
stuck into a crust of sugar. I remember a course of 



lyo RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

game, and then the plum-pudding, with a berg of vanilla 
ice-cream and a mould of calves'-foot jelly, together with 
many little iced cakes and rosy apples in pyramids. 
This for us who had been for months living on salt pork 
and rice, beans and dried apples, who were to live on 
that fare (and in short rations, too) until poor old 
Richmond fell! The deeds done with fork and spoon 
that day, are they not written in the annals of the 
Retreat ? 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends! Our holi- 
day was over. Again packed in the wagon, this time 
with the warmth of kindly good-byes and the memory 
of a royal welcome forming a shield around our hearts 
against cold and all Pandora's box of ills. "And just 
look here!" said Joe Denegre as we started, designating 
a large split basket of luncheon hidden in the straw. 
"Then, don't any of you say there's such a word as 
trouble in this world!" 

We creaked along. We sank into deep ruts and 
dragged through miry reaches. The drive seemed end- 
less. The cork came out of our persimmon beer and 
it filled Lee Tucker's shoe, but nobody complained. 
The victim, possessing a very nice voice of his own, 
started: "If you want to have a good time, jine the cav- 
alry," in which everybody chimed. Other songs fol- 
lowed, and catches: "Frere Jacques!" "A southerly 
wind and a cloudy sky," and "White sand and gray 
sand." At two o'clock we had luncheon, and a happy 
silence fell. 

More songs; then "Muggins" was proposed, a game 
of cards I thought detestable; but they played it as 
earnestly as people nowadays play bridge. Next, Mr. 
Tucker got out "Elsie Venner," and gave us an exam- 
ple of his elocution in the tea-party of "Mrs. Marilla 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 171 

Rowens," and so we arrived at a ford that of course 
we couldn't cross. 

To crown all, it was raining. Captains Denegre and 
Tucker went off in the gathering darkness through mud 
ankle-deep, reappearing with news of a house some- 
where into which we might be taken. Whatever failed 
us in those days, it was not Virginian hospitality! The 
good people whose home we invaded seemed more than 
pleased to receive us, and next morning betimes started 
us again "On to Richmond." By that time all Christ- 
mas cheer had gone out of us. To reach a ferry, where 
there was only a tiny makeshift of a skiff, we and the 
mules wearily took up the burden of life again, plod- 
ding live miles through sloughs of hopeless mud, up 
perpendicular hills and down again, till every bone 
ached and philosophy ceased to be a virtue. 

Once more on the shores of classic Pamunkey, liquid 
mud flowing everywhere, in prospect a crossing, two by 
two, in a miserable egg-shell made of slimy planks, the 
bottom quite under water! The crowning feat of our 
expedition w^as, on reaching the other shore, all vehicles 
failing, to take heart of grace and walk six miles, in a 
downpour, to the nearest station of the railway. Old 
Uncle Nebuchadnezzar, an ebon shade, smiling broadly 
over his coat-pocket full of Confederate blue-backs ad- 
ministered as tips, remaining with his mules on the far 
bank of the Stygian River, alone told the tale of our per- 
fect holiday. If it is asked what were our notions of 
perfection, I would answer that in those days we were 
sustained by what Cervantes styled "the bounding of 
the soul, the bursting of laughter, and the quicksilver 
of the five senses." 

As all chronicles of our war-time must of necessity 
drop often into melancholy detail, I am trying to as- 



172 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

semble some of the more cheerful aspects of Richmond 
life. One day in January, Mrs. George Wythe Ran- 
dolph, the beautiful Oriental-looking wife of our cousin, 
the Secretary of War, appealed to me to arrange for her 
an entertainment for an evening party which it devolved 
upon her to give to social and official Richmond. So 
I " thought up " a series of charades in pantomime, called 
in the players I could depend upon, and with the aid of 
Vizitelly, who not only painted a reversible drop scene 
but the faces of all the actors, the affair came off suc- 
cessfully. 

The ready muse of Mr. Thompson bubbled over in a 
set of verses, read with spirit between each word, by 
Miss Mary Preston in the costume of a Greek chorus. 
I have them now, in the author's beautiful distinct 
caligraphy. "Knighthood," was the first word, and 
when the stanza I shall quote was read, the allu- 
sion it contained to General Hood, sitting well to the 
front in our audience, w^as a complete surprise. The 
object of the eulogy, looking Hke the hero of a 
Wagner opera, was compelled by a tumult of hand- 
clappings to arise and bow, blushing to the roots of 
his hair, and it was several minutes before the per- 
formance could go on. 

"Knight is my first, my second is a name 

That's doubly linked unto enduring fame; 
The gentle poet of the Bridge of Sighs, 

The hero, cynosure of tenderest eyes, 
HOOD, whose keen sword has never known a stain, 

Whose valor brightened Chickamauga's plain; 
Well might he stand in glory's blazing roll 

To represent to future times my whole; 
For goodlier Knighthood surely never shone 

Round fair Queen Bess upon her stately throne 
Than his, whose lofty deeds we proudly call our own." 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 173 

General Hood, who had recently lost a leg in battle, 
was generally supposed to be engaged to marry the fair 
and regal being near whom he sat at our entertainment. 
His staff-surgeon going abroad through the blockade 
about this time was reported to carry, as his chief's 
direction for purchase in Paris, this order: "Mem: 
Three cork legs, and a diamond ring." 

The love affair attributed to him did not materialize. 
It was some time after the war, when General Hood, 
married to a beautiful girl in New Orleans, and pos- 
sessed of an unusually liberal allowance of young chil- 
dren, was said, upon his travels over the Southern 
country, where he had once wired orders deploying 
conquering armies, to telegraph ahead for fresh milk 
at the ensuing station. 

From a stray leaf of my working copy of the pro- 
gramme, I find our dramatis person?£ in "Pen" were 
Miss Josephine Chestney, as a quaint and pretty " Fanny 
Squeers," cajoling Major Ward, as " Nicholas Nickleby," 
to sharpen her quill pen. 

In "Eye," Miss Herndon, as the "Widow Wadman," 
displayed her ailing orb to Mr. Forbes, as "Uncle 
Toby." 

In "Tent" we had one of those Eastern scenes dear 
to amateurs, with all the jewels, spangles, and scarfs of 
friends and family united on the persons of young ladies 
who loll upon sofa cushions. In this word, Mrs. Rus- 
sell Robinson was a lovely " Light of the Harem." The 
only real harem I ever penetrated in my journeys in 
Eastern countries was utterly unlike our representa- 
tion, but we were all quite satisfied. 

The word "Penitent" was posed by Miss Lizzie 
Giles in the garb of a novice with what seemed real 
"ears upon her roseate cheeks. 



174 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Our next was time-honored "Matrimony." In 
"Mat," Mr. Robert Dobbin lost his lady-love by too 
great anxiety in looking for a mat to kneel upon before 
Miss Pollard. 

"Rye" revealed Vizitelly's painted fields as a back- 
ground for my Cousin Hetty Cary's appearance in the 
guise of a Scotch lassie far too good-looking to be true, 
a picture several times redemanded w^hile the piano 
industriously repeated "Comin' Thro' the Rye." After' 
this scene my cousin was about to go around to sit 
among the audience, when her presence became neces- 
sary to quell an incipient strike among my supers be- 
hind the scenes. These volunteers being none other 
than Generals J. E. B. Stuart and Fitz Lee, the former 
declared he wouldn't stay by himself in that stuffy place 
next the butler's pantry and hold up a step-ladder un- 
less Miss Hetty Cary would come and talk to him. 

The result of this arrangement was that as the cur- 
tain was about to rise upon "Money" — where I, as a 
rustic maiden, was to divide my smiles between Colonel 
John Saunders, an humble swain of my own estate, and 
Vizitelly, a plumed cavalier with a purse of gold to offer 
— a fiasco occurred that nearly wrecked me and the syl- 
lable. My scene, charmingly painted as an English 
thatched cottage wreathed in roses, with a glimpse of 
the Thames in the background, had a garden fence, on 
the stile of which I was supposed to be perched co- 
quettishly. Just as I had seated myself upon the stile, 
held up by General Stuart in the rear, and Vizitelly was 
prepared to make his swaggering entrance from the 
side, while Colonel Saunders began enacting whole vol- 
umes of jealousy, my perch gave way and I slid to the 
ground. Instantly the heroine was transformed into an 
irate stage-manager darting behind the scenes to scold 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 175 

an offending super. In vain General Stuart protested 
abject penitence for having forgotten for a moment and 
let go, and promised better behavior. Accused of gross 
neglect while on duty, he was sentenced to lose his posi- 
tion and sit among the audience for the remainder of the 
show. General Fitz Lee, virtuously declaring that no 
young lady could make him forget his responsibility as 
a step-ladder, took and held General Stuart's post. 

Poor Stuart — gallant and joyous Stuart! Lee's right 
arm — the meteor cavalryman whose men gloried in fol- 
lowing him to the death! In a few short months after 
this brief dalliance with fun in Richmond, he was to ride 
his last ride, and be shot down by a bullet from the out- 
post after the battle of the Yellow Tavern. In all our 
parties and pleasurings, there seemed to lurk a fore- 
shadowing of tragedy, as in the Greek plays where the 
gloomy end is ever kept in sight. 

For those of this generation less familiar than were we 
with Stuart's fame, I quote a striking description from 
a book called the "Crisis of the Confederacy," written by 
an English officer, Captain Cecil Battine, of the Fifteenth 
King's Hussars. "James Stuart, or Jeb, as he was 
called in the army, from his first initials, proved himself 
in his short career the greatest warrior amongst the 
great men who have been so called. Whether or not 
he was really descended from Robert the Bruce, he cer- 
tainly inherited the kingly talent for leading men and 
making war. He won the great battle of May 3, which 
was decisive in this campaign, by skillful and gallant 
leading. He was but twenty-eight years old when he 
took Jackson's place at the head of the Second Corps." 
And again, in describing Chancellorsville: "The signal 
was then given for an assault right along the line. While 



176 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

the guns swept the road and the clearing on either side 
of it, Stuart led his infantry once more across the ravine, 
singing at the top of his voice, and waving his sword. 
His blonde beard, blue eyes and noble figure on horse- 
back recalled the Norman hero who led the van at 
Hastings, singing the songs of Roland." 

The finale of our performance at General Randolph's 
(given before the President, the cabinet, and as many 
more official people as the spacious rooms could hold) 
was very satisfying to our pride, although that is a con- 
dition rarely missing from the efforts of amateur actors. 
The whole word "Matrimony" was embodied in the 
quarrel scene from the "School for Scandal," beginning 
with the peevish protest of " Sir Peter" : " Lady Teazle, 
Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it," in which the protean 
Mr. Lee Tucker and the writer of these lines took the 
parts of the ill-matched pair. My costume that night 
was like a New England minister's donation party, a 
combination of unrelated parts contributed by friends. 
Miss Maria Freeland, our neighbor, had at the last mo- 
ment sent over the white ostrich plumes, sought wildly 
among my friends without success, that crowned the 
superstructure of my powdered locks, and I wore dear 
knows who's pearl necklace, in mortal fear of losing it. 
Everybody borrowed; everybody lent; we had not the 
least reserve in seeking. 

That winter, also, was given the amateur performance 
of which several accounts have recently gone into print. 
Mrs. Clement Clay, as "Mrs. Malaprop," was as- 
tonishingly good, dominating our little stage with the 
ease of a veteran actress. Mr. John Randolph as "Sir 
Anthony," Paymaster L, M. Tucker as "Jack Abso- 
lute," Major R. W. Brown as "Sir Lucius," Major 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 177 

Frank Ward as *' Bob Acres," Mr. George Robinson 
as "David," and Mr. R. Dobbin as "Coachman," with 
my little brother as "Fag," carried off their parts with 
a dash that made me often long in the after days, when 
I conducted so many amateur theatricals for charity in 
New York, for such admirable material with which to 
cast my plays. The drollest incident was when Gen- 
eral Hood, new to "The Rivals," said about *'Bob 
Acres": "By Jove, I believe the man's afraid!" 

The witty, rattling old comedy went from beginning 
to end without a lagging moment. I had the uninspir- 
ing part of "Lydia Languish," serving as a foil for the 
real brilliancy of Mrs. Clay's performance. We played 
it two nights successfully before large audiences of our 
friends. I find in a scrap of old diary, without a date, 
this entry: "My first dress was white muslin, lace neg- 
lige cap, blue ribbons; second dress, petticoat and bodice 
of pale blue brocade (once worn by somebody else at a 
White House levee), train of pale pink moire antique, 
powdered hair, wreath of pink roses, fichu of old Mech- 
lin lace. . . . "Clarence had an especial permit from 
the Secretary of the Navy (Mr. Mallory) to leave the 
school-ship for these occasions. Mamma patched up 
his livery with much skill, and at the first performance, 
had the pride of hearing an old general, doubled with 
laughter on the seat next to her, say: "By George, that 
Fag beats all the rest of 'em! It's the best bit of acting 
I ever saw. . . . " 

Tired as we were, next morning I went with Hetty, 
General Fitz Lee, and Colonel von Borcke for a long 
ride in brilliant winter sunshine, our hearts bounding 
with our horses. Hetty looked so beautiful in her habit 
none of us could keep our eyes off her. (The only girl 
I ever thought compared with her in the saddle was Sally 



lyS RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Preston, whose habit, made in England, fitted her noble 
figure like a glove. She rode in London park style, and 
when mounted on her fine bay, Fairfax, was a glowing 
picture of vigorous beauty.) I made them laugh by tell- 
ing "behind the scenes" anecdotes, and complaining 
of the black and blue spot left on my shoulder by Mrs. 
Malaprop's real pinch. I also confided to them that 
I should love to go upon the real stage, but knew, if I did, 
all the grandfathers and great-aunts would rise from their 
graves in horror! It was not so long before that a mem- 
ber of the Episcopal Church in Virginia was forbidden to 
go to the theatre, and to races, or threatened with excom- 
munication for waltzing. This was during the period 
when the spirit of valiant old Bishop Meade still con- 
trolled our Church, in reaction from the days of the card- 
playing, fox-hunting clergy and resident chaplains who 
read the service in surplices worn over pink coats, keep- 
ing their hunters saddled and tethered at the vestry 
door! 

I am trying to remember, to write down here, some of 
the men we were accustomed to meet at our parties and 
to receive in our drawing-rooms. Of the general offi- 
cers, first and last, the list is a long one, besides those al- 
ready mentioned in these pages. General Custis Lee; 
General W. H. F. Lee; Generals Elzey, Gracie, Roger 
A. Pryor, Lawton, Albert Sydney Johnston (the noblest 
Roman of them all in appearance), Gordon, Morgan, 
Buckner, McCullough, Jenkins, Edward Johnston, 
P. M. B. Young, and splendid General Breckinridge. 
The Hon. Mr. Clingman was a devoted if rather mel- 
ancholy squire of dames. Then there were Colonels 
John Taylor Wood, Lubbock, and Preston Johnston, of 
the President's staff; Colonels George Deas and Bayne; 
Captain Basil Gildersleeve, of Ewell's staflF; Colonel 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 179 

Osmun Latrobe (who has not let himself belong to a 
by-gone age but still holds his own at New York, New- 
port, and Lenox, as in our little war-jammed Richmond) ; 
always popular Colonel Henry Kyd Douglas, of whom 
we were to see so much in later days at Bar Harbor; 
Hon. William Porcher Miles; General Chestnut and 
Governor Manning; Captain Gordon McCabe (very 
young, but a hot fighter, a nimble dancer, and already 
a rare wit); Captain Joseph Bryan; Captain Frank Daw- 
son (the clever, handsome, venturesome English lad, 
who, in order to cast his fortunes with the Confederacy, 
had come out from Southampton as a stowaway in the 
Nashville's mad run described in my brother's recital, 
and was to win fame and distinction in his adopted land); 
that picturesque old warrior and fire-eater. Colonel 
Frederick Skinner, of the First Virginia; Captain Page 
McCarty; Captain John Esten Cooke, the author; Dr, 
George Ross; Mr. Cooper de Leon, whom I had known 
since crepuscular days in Washington; Captain Samuel 
Shannon; Captain *'Wragge" Ferguson; Captains Shir- 
ley Carter, Stuart Symington, and James Eraser; Major 
Theodore Chestney; Major Thomas Brander; Colonel 
William Munford; young Captain John Sargeant Wise; 
Captain Travers Daniel; the brilliant and many-sided 
Innis Randolph; Captain Legh Page; Majors Caskie 
Cabell and Willie Caskie; and my brother's friends, 
Midshipmen Jefferson Davis Howell and handsome 
James Morris Morgan, the latter early betrothed to the 
youthful daughter of Secretary Trenholm. 

A friend and guest of our Vaucluse days was Cap- 
tain William Washington, the artist of **The Burial of 
Latane," a touching war picture, and others, some of 
which still hang upon the walls of old Confederate sym- 
pathizers, more, perhaps, "In Memoriam," than because 



i8o RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

of very great intrinsic merit. Washington was a capi- 
tal fellow, clever, well-bred, and versatile, and deserved 
more fame and fortune than he had won when we saw 
him later, buffeting the fierce current of New York fol- 
lowing the war. 

Mr. Edward Valentine I met first when I was a school- 
girl at Lefebvre's and he a mere lad trying short flights 
with his budding wings of genius into the empyrean of 
success he has since attained as a sculptor. To him 
the South owes, besides many other works, the im- 
mortal recumbent statue of General Lee on the hero's 
tomb at Lexington that to my mind is as noble as any 
piece of memorial sculpture in Italy or Greece, worthy 
to lie upon the glorious sarcophagus (called that of 
the great Alexander) that stands in the museum at 
Constantinople. 

The Chevalier Moses Ezekiel, a sculptor also born 
in Richmond, but long resident in Rome, where he won 
his title and high honors from the Italian Government, 
has sent back to his native country many examples of 
his ripely cultured art. The "Virginia Mourning Her 
Dead," presented by him to the campus of the Vir- 
ginia Military Institute, where he was a student in early 
youth; his bronze "Homer," recently installed at the 
University of Virginia; his "Jefferson," in Louisville, 
Kentucky; and his promised "Stonewall Jackson," still 
I believe in his atelier in the classic quarter of the Baths 
of Diocletian at Rome, will enduringly attest the fame 
of Virginia's wandering son. 

William L. Sheppard, of Richmond, early transferred 
his scene of activity as a clever draughtsman, colonist, 
and modeller of war statuettes to New York, where his 
art is familiar in the Harpers' publications and in other 
prominent journals and magazines. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY i8i 

Poor Alexander Gait, a modest and gentle fellow who 
did good work in marbles representing some of our lead- 
ers, came occasionally to visit us. He had asked my 
mother's permission to make a bust of her daughter, and 
the preliminary sketch, etc., was done, another appoint- 
ment settled, etc., when we heard to our grief and horror 
that he was lying dangerously ill of contagious small- 
pox, of which he shortly died. 

A protege of General Wise was Conrad Wise Chapman, 
a young artist from Italy, son of my mother's friend, 
John G. Chapman, who had painted her at eighteen 
in "The Baptism of Pocahontas" for the Rotunda at 
Washington. He left Rome to come over and enlist 
in the Confederate army, and saw varied service. A 
number of etchings of his battle scenes were put into 
circulation. We met him later at his own studio in 
the Twenty-third Street Building, corner of Fourth Av- 
enue, New York, in which city, I think, he still abides. 

I could never employ the critical faculty in my esti- 
mate of the work of John A. Elder, an artist of Fred- 
ericksburg, Virginia, simply because his treatment of 
Confederate subjects so gripped my heart that tears 
prevented a closer scrutiny. His "Appomattox," 
"The Crater," and "The Scout's Prize" have stood the 
test of years. 

No feeling heart in Richmond failed to yield tender 
sympathy to the President's family in the calamity that 
befell them when little, merry, happy "Joe," petted by 
all visitors to the Executive Mansion — he who, when his 
father was in the act of receiving official visitors, once 
pushed his way into the study and, clad only in an ab- 
breviated night-gown, insisted upon saying his evening 
prayer at the President's knee — fell from the porch in 



i82 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

the rear of their dwelling and was picked up dead on the 
brick pavement underneath. From Burton Harrison, 
upon whom devolved all arrangements in behalf of the 
stricken parents, we heard a pitiful tale of the mother's 
passionate grief and the terrible self-control of the Pres- 
ident, who, shutting himself in his own room, had walked 
the floor without ceasing all of the first night. To the 
bier of the little lad, it seemed that every child in Rich- 
mond brought flowers and green leaves. 

The battle of the Wilderness, on May 6, 1864, and its 
terrible sequel, of musketry setting fire to brush and 
undergrowth on the field where dead and wounded were 
alike wrapped in flame and smoke during one long 
appalling night; the serious wounding of Lieutenant- 
General Longstreet; the battles of Spottsylvania Court 
House on May 10 and 12, with the death of Stuart 
near the Yellow Tavern on the later date, renewed all 
the old strain of continual yearning over the fortunes 
of our army. The horrors of the slaughter at Cold 
Harbor, on June 3, in which the Union amy lost over 
13,000 men, the result, it was said, of little over one 
hour's fighting, and the beginning of the siege of Peters- 
burg, focussed emotion. It did not seem we could stand 
more of these " bludgeonings of Fate." 

My mother, for some time inactive in her nursing, 
declared she could rest no longer. She had been out 
to visit the hospital at Camp Winder, in a barren suburb 
of the town, where the need of nurses was crying. My 
aunt, Mrs. Hyde, deciding to accompany her, they were 
soon installed there, my mother as division matron, in 
charge of a number of rude sheds serving as shelter for 
the patients, my aunt controlling a dispensary of food 
for the sufferers. It had been proposed that I should re- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 183 

main in town with friends, but my first glance at my 
mother's accommodations in the camp made me resolve 
to share them and try to do my part. To the nurses 
and matrons was allotted one end of a huge Noah's 
Ark, built of unpainted pine, divided by a partition, 
the surgeons occupying the other end. Near by were 
the diet kitchens and store-rooms, around which were 
gathered wards and tents, the whole camp occupying an 
arid, shadeless, sun-baked plain, without grass or water 
anywhere, encircled by a noxious trench too often used 
to receive the nameless debris of the wards. To my 
mother, and myself as a volunteer aid to her, was as- 
signed a large bare room with rough-boarded walls and 
one window, a cot in each corner, two chairs, a table, and 
washing apparatus. Then a kind lady coming to see us 
and declaring she was about to remove to the country 
and had nowhere to store a roomful of furniture, we 
fell heir to some nice old bits of mahogany, a folding- 
screen, a matting rug, a mirror, and a pair of white mus- 
lin curtains. While my mother was absent one day 
upon her rounds, I invoked the aid of a nice old colored 
man, and presto! our room was changed into a bow^r, 
bed and sitting room combined. When the curtain was 
hung up at the window — looking to the west, where 
each evening the sun sank, sending up a fountain of radi- 
ance behind a belt of inky pines — and tied back with 
my one blue sash, I had a bright idea. We would have 
a box of growing flowers nailed to the outside of the sill. 
Enlisting the services of my friendly darky to secure a 
box for me, he soon returned with what seemed ex- 
actly the right thing. When he told me it had been 
given him by the surgeons and had contained artificial 
legs my zeal decreased — but we covered it with bark 
from the woodshed, I bought somewhere plants of ivy. 



i84 RFXOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

geraniums, and sweet alyssum, and, in the end, our win- 
dow-garden was the envy of the camp. Just when I 
had finished arranging my new baihwick, a couple of 
rosy Irish sisters, good, loving souls employed in the 
hospital, came in to bring me linen sheets and pillow- 
cases spun by their mother in the old country and given 
to them for their weddings in the New World — "an' 
seein' the Yankees don't seem of a mind to spare us hus- 
bands anyhow, we'd be proud for you to use 'em, miss, 
in your be-youtiful room that's like a palace beside 
the rest." 

Alas! the heat, the smell of the wounds, and close 
confinement to her rounds brought upon my mother the 
only illness I could remember, for her muscles and nerves 
always seemed to be made of iron. It was fortunately 
brief, and I then took my turn at the same trouble. 
But our initiation to Camp Winder over, we soon found 
forgetfulness of discomfort in the awful realities of brave 
men's suffering on every hand. I followed my mother in 
her rounds, aiding and supplementing her. Ere long, 
I found certain patients who in due course were rele- 
gated entirely to my care, w^ith a ward helper in attend- 
ance. My whole heart passed into the work. I could 
hardly sleep for wishing to be back in those miserable 
cheerless wards, where dim eyes would kindle feebly 
at sight of me and trembling lips gave me last messages 
to transmit to those they would never see again. Once, 
going into one of my mother's wards, I found my way 
blocked by an arm lying on the floor, and the surgeons 
who had just amputated it still at work on Cavanagh, 
one of our favorite patients, a big, gentle Irishman, 
always courteous and considerate. The blood was gush- 
ing profusely from the flaps they were sewing together, 
and for a moment I paused uncertain. "Can you stand 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 185 

it?" asked one of the doctors kindly. "If so, there's a 
Httle help needed, as we're short-handed this morning." 
I stayed, and in a moment I saw clear and all seemed ea- 
sier. When they hurried off, leaving Cavanagh to me, 
he came out of chloroform looking me full in the eyes, 
as I stood sponging his forehead. " So it's gone at last, 
the poor old arm we worked so hard to save," I said, 
trying to speak lightly. "Yes, miss, but it's not meself 
you should be thinkin' about," he answered, "an' you 
standin' by, dirtyin' your dress with the blood o' me." 
Cavanagh, I am glad to say, got well and left the hos- 
pital, swearing eternal fealty to his nurse. 

One night, following a day when the cannon had not 
ceased till sunset, we were awakened by an orderly com- 
ing to tell my mother that a lot of new wounded had 
been brought in from the field and were still coming. 
They were putting them in a new ward just built at the 
far end of the camp, but had actually no food or stimu- 
lant to give them. Did Mrs. Cary think she could 
possibly spare a little from her store-room, since many 
of these poor fellows had been in the ambulance since 
the day before, some without a mouthful passing their 
lips I 

We sprang up, hurried into our clothes, and were out- 
side in a few minutes. My mother, unlocking her stores 
with a sinking heart, found she had but one bucket of 
milk, a small bottle of brandy, a piece of cold boiled 
pork, and a pile of cold corn-bread. With our arms full, 
we stumbled in the darkness over the rough ground, 
following the ordefly and his lantern. If we had spilt 
that precious milk our hearts would have broken then 
and there! 

The Southern night had spent its early heat, and a 
wandering breeze laden with wood odors came up from 



i86 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

the river and smote our foreheads gratefully. At the 
door of the new ward, a long pine shed, ambulances were 
disgorging their ghastly contents, some of the wounded 
uttering pitifully prayers to be left to die in peace, some 
mercifully in stupor, while other forms were lifted out 
already stiffened in their last sleep. Those for whom the 
jolting ride from the battle-field had not finished the 
work of the enemy's bullets were carried in and laid on 
the cots, and by the insufficient glimmer of oil lanterns 
and tallow dips the surgeons began their rounds. Be- 
fore they were half finished, a streak of saffron came 
into the sky seen through the open windows, and in 
the sparse trees on the outskirts of the camp, birds had 
begun to stir and chirp. We placed our supplies on a 
table near the door, and my mother, telling me the sur- 
geons needed her assistance, bade me find out the exact 
number to be fed and "make it go around." Ah! that 
division of meagre portions! Never since, have I been 
able to endure with complacency seeing the waste of food 
in peace times. When, aided by the ward helpers, I be- 
gan to distribute it, some were past swallowing, and their 
more vigorous neighbors looked with covetous eyes upon 
the poor rejected bits. To hurry by carrying off these 
morsels, to take cups away from thirsty lips before they 
were satisfied, was a keen sorrow. 

At length, when I had nearly finished the task and al- 
most exhausted my resources, I came upon a cot where 
lay upon his face a mere boy apparently dying. There 
was no time to call a doctor. I mixed milk and brandy, 
and after forcing his body over poured it by teaspoon- 
fuls down his throat, keeping on till I had the joy of 
seeing the vital spark creep back. Little by little he 
reached the point of opening his eyes, and telling me 
he didn't exactly know what was the matter with him. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 187 

but that he felt "so tired." As soon as I could capture 
my favorite doctor, I brought him to my patient. A 
wound was found, but a slight one. The lad was sim- 
ply dying from exhaustion, the joggling of hours in the 
ambulance, and want of food. " He may thank his stars 
you kept on trying," said my doctor, "or he'd have been 
a dead one before now. Think of children like this 
put into the ranks to fill the places of the seasoned men 
they've killed for us! " 

This patient also recovered on our hands, and in due 
time went back to his "old woman" in North Carolina, 
whose poor, scrawling letters to her son I had to read 
and answer for him. While at Camp Winder he was 
indulged by me to an extent that caused some jealousy 
and cutting comment from his neighbors in the ward. 
For him were reserved all the tidbits I could lay hands 
upon, but fortunately he went home before he was too 
badly spoiled. 

If we had visitors, there was nowhere to receive them, 
so the few I allowed to come appeared during my off 
time in the afternoon, and took me out to walk. With 
the private secretary of the President, who never came 
save with some welcome book in hand, I oftenest 
wandered out of the grim precincts of Camp Winder 
into the woods above the canal and river bank, where 
we would sit under the shelving boughs and watch the 
silent boats steal by below, reading, talking, and try- 
ing to forget the incubus of war. Here the air knew 
no taint, wild flowers sprung profusely, there was no 
sound save that of the chafing river. Sometimes, on 
the canal-boats gliding past, the negro deck-hands would 
sing in plaintive chorus, or play an obligato upon some 
wind instrument dying in the distance like horns of Elf- 
land. Walking back in the evening, we carried bou- 



i88 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

quets and sprays of foliage arranged while we sat; some 
for my own quarters, most of them for patients lying 
alone in the tents where they put infected wounds. 
These last had my deepest sympathy, so childlike they 
were in their terror of being shut out of the wards and 
left day and night alone save for the rare visits possible 
where there were so many needing attention. We gen- 
erally timed ourselves to reach camp at sunset, just as the 
one-armed and one-legged soldier on duty at the head- 
quarters flag-staff lowered the stars and bars to their 
evening rest, afterward performing upon his asthmatic 
bugle a melancholy strain. Then I had an hour of duty 
in feeding the patients in our ward who could not help 
themselves, and after that my mother, my aunt and I 
repaired to a bare refectory on the ground-floor of our 
Noah's Ark, where we shared with innumerable flies 
a coarse and insufficient evening meal. 

To multiply instances of our work among the suf- 
ferers that long, long summer would be monotonous. 
I depict it as an example of a life led by hundreds of 
women of the South — women who had mostly come 
out of beautiful and luxurious homes. My mother, 
previously a volunteer, was now a paid servant of gov- 
ernment, and, of what she received, spent the greater 
part in amplifying the conveniences and supplies of her 
diet kitchen. We were then in straits for everything 
considered indispensable in the outfit of modern hos- 
pitals. Our surgeons, working with pure devotion, were 
at their wits' end to renew needful appliances. With- 
out going into painful detail, I can say that our experi- 
ence was continually shocking and distressing, as were 
the burials of our dead in a field by Hollywood, six or 
seven coffins dropped into one yawning pit, and hur- 
riedly covered in, all that a grateful country could ren- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 189 

der in return for precious lives. All told, that Camp 
Winder episode was the most ghastly I ever knew. If 
we had possessed enough of any one hospital requisite 
it would have been less grim! 

In June, 1864, my brother, who had been under fire 
repeatedly that spring aboard the iron-clad Virginia, in 
the campaign against Butler below Drury's Bluff, was 
ordered back to the school-ship for examination, becom- 
ing passed midshipman. Thence he was sent to the 
Chickamauga, at Wilmington, then fitting out for a de- 
structive cruise which she was to watch her opportu- 
nity of making. Often when my mother and I returned 
from the hospital rounds to our pine barracks, heated 
red-hot by the torrid Southern sun, we would sit down to 
rest weary bones and speculate about our wanderer 
— whether he was yet out upon the deep that tells no 
tales, his ship to be shattered by a broadside from the 
blockading fleet, and he to go down in her, without 
a chance to send us a last message or farewell; less 
happy in that regard than the young fellows from whose 
brows w^e had that day wiped the death damps, whilst 
charging ourselves with letters to their beloved ones 
in far Southern homes. 

It is a long lane that has no turning, and my holiday 
came at last. Late in the summer a small house-party, 
consisting of two men and two girls, was made welcome 
at "The Retreat." Spite of all drawbacks and darkest 
prospects, youth and happiness emerged triumphant 
from the shadows, making the week one of immemorial 
incident. After the male guests went back to duty, one 
of them, returning for a "week-end" visit, left Rich- 
mond on horseback late Saturday evening, rode all 
night, his horse swimming a river wherever the ferry- 
man was absent, spent Sunday with us, and rode back 



190 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

through the night, just arriving in time for a certain 
official breakfast-table on Monday, where the mystery 
of his absence created endless humorous speculations, 
even from his stately chief. 

A year later, the gay rider w^as in rigorous confinment 
in the casemate of a Northern fortress, fighting fate 
hourly within his valiant soul. The other — true knight, 
true lover, tried and proved leader of armies in the 
field — lay in his hero's grave in Hollywood, his radiant 
bride a stricken widow, whose story passed into tra- 
dition as among the saddest of the war. 

My cousin Hetty and I lingered on in the country un- 
til my holiday ended disastrously. A sudden sharp ill- 
ness — *' Pamunkey fever," they called it, following the 
long stretch of hospital work in summer heat — sum- 
moned my mother from Richmond to attend me. She 
arrived in an ambulance, finding me, however, so much 
on the mend that I was able to drive back with her 
through the crimson and golden glories of the Pamunkey 
Swamps. 

Things, as I recall them, seem to have rushed onward 
with the speed of lightning during the last winter of 
the war. We had again settled ourselves in quarters 
in town. I had recovered my full strength, and was al- 
most always hungry. We had little money, little food. 
It was impossible to draw upon our funds in Washing- 
ton, and my mother, with a number of ladies, took a 
situation to sign bank-notes in the Treasury Depart- 
ment. In what they called " Mr. Memminger's recep- 
tion-room,*' she daily met gentlewomen, in whose veins 
ran the purest currents of cavalier and Huguenot blood. 
The names written upon those bank-notes might have 
served to illustrate the genesis of Southern aristocracy. 

This time we had been able to secure only one room 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 191 

in a friend's house, with the use of her drawing-room 
and dining-room and service of her cook, the latter being 
a nominal one only; our breakfast, at 8 a.m., consisting 
of corn-bread with the drippings of fried bacon instead 
of butter, and coffee made of dried beans and peanuts, 
without milk or sugar. For luncheon we had, day in and 
day out, bacon, rice, and dried apples sweetened with 
sorghum. For our evening repast were served cakes 
made of corn-meal and water, eaten with sorghum mo- 
lasses, and more of that unspeakable coffee. I cannot 
remember getting up from any meal that winter with- 
out wishing there were more of it. I went once to call 
upon a family antecedently wealthy, and found father, 
mother, and children miaking their dinner upon soup- 
plates filled with that cheerless compound known as 
"Benjamin" hard-tack, soaked in hot water, sprinkled 
with salt or brown sugar. It is to be said, however, 
there was in our community no discussion of diets, fads, 
or cures, and the health chase of modern society was 
an unknown quantity. People in better physical con- 
dition than the besieged dwellers of Richmond, when 
their cause was beginning to feel the death-clutch at its 
throat, were certainly not to be found. 



CHAPTER IX 

THE question of executive policy was by no means 
left at rest among the exponents of public opin- 
ion in Richmond. While there was a large fac- 
tion supporting the President in his disapproval of Gen- 
eral Johnston's method of playing the game of war with 
General Sherman, in northern Georgia, many a bitter 
comment was heard upon Mr. Davis's final action in 
relieving Johnston of his command. People we met 
said outspokenly that the Executive's animus against 
Johnston was based upon a petty feud between their 
wives, who had been daily associates and friends in the 
old Washington days. Others warmly defended Mr. 
Davis, declaring that the brilliant and aggressive Hood 
was the general of all others to make up for Johnston's 
delay in bringing matters to a crisis. 

It is certain that Johnston felt keenly the blow of 
his removal. One of my cousins, close to this general 
throughout the war, told me the great soldier shed tears 
of bitter mortification upon his removal, and that he 
heard him say: 

"I had drawn and drawn and drawn Sherman, and 
just when I got him where I wanted him to be, I was 
taken away." 

And now for a stirring chapter in family annals, sup- 
plied by our midshipman, between whom and his 
mother and sister the veil of silence and uncertainty had 
fallen for several months. I knew that England had 
struck her fiercest blow at Spain by preying upon her 

192 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 193 

commerce in open waters; that France, in the Seven 
Years' War, had sent numbers of bold privateers to 
destroy shipping off the English coast and in the Irish 
Sea; that, following these depredations, "all England 
had gone mad after privateering," and had sent out 
hundreds of vessels great and small to put the French- 
men back in their proper places. Any one might read 
of the liberal use made by America in her war for in- 
dependence of the fleets of commissioned privateers 
sent forth to harry Britain upon the ocean. It was all 
fair-play according to historical precedent, and our 
President had issued letters of marque and reprisal to 
private armed ships to do their best against Northern 
merchant-men. All that one felt in cold blood, however, 
was swept away in the thrilling excitement of actual 
adventure. 

I may here state that a diary (exacted of their mid- 
shipmen by the Confederate navy, following the old- 
time custom of the navies of England and the United 
States), kept by my brother on the cruise of the Chicka- 
mauga and during the siege of Fort Fisher, achieved, 
unexpectedly to him, the honor of passing into the ar- 
chives of the State Department at Washington, where, 
in "Room 311, Case 21," this boy's record of sea advent- 
ure is now preserved. Found in the naval school after 
the occupation of Richmond by Lieutenant-Commander 
James Parker, U. S. N., it was sent by him to the Navy 
Department in Washington. "The journal of Mid- 
shipman Cary," says Commander Parker, "seemed to 
me a very important and valuable contribution to the 
naval side of a dispute between Admiral Porter and 
General Butler as to the propriety of the withdrawal of 
the troops at Fort Fisher. It was just such a journal 
as I would have kept in my midshipman days fifteen or 



194 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

more years before; and its entire truthfulness and cor- 
rectness were apparent, colored as they were by boyish 
enthusiasm and frankness of statement. 

"I promptly sent it to the Navy Department. I 
heard no more of it until its reappearance several years 
later in evidence before the Geneva Tribunal; where it 
contributed largely to fix the responsibility of Great 
Britain for the destruction of our shipping by these 
Confederate cruisers, whose doings were faithfully 
chronicled in the journal." 

How the diary came to be discovered in the files of 
the Navy Department by those charged with preparing 
the case of the United States for the Geneva Tribunal, 
and extracts from it edited for that case, Mr. Cary has 
never heard. It was not until the publication of the 
arbitration proceedings in 1871 that he learned of the 
continued existence of his almost forgotten journal, or 
that it had so contributed to the making of history. 

"The purpose of the production of the journal," 
writes Mr. Cary, *'was to show that the British had 
granted undue favors to the Chickamauga during her 
call at their neutral port at St. George's in Bermuda, 
both in respect of coal supply and length of stay." In 
the ** Opinions of Sir Alexander Cockburn," a privy 
councillor and lord chief-justice of England, and one of 
the arbitrators at Geneva, occurs the following: 

"The only authority for this statement (/. e., as to the 
Chickamauga s overstaying her time limit of 24 hours 
at Bermuda and her receipt there of 82 tons of coal 
instead of the prescribed 25) is the diary of a midship- 
man who was serving on board the ship. The diary 
is not unamusing, and is not without its value. . . . 
In the result, the whole question becomes immaterial. 
We see from Mr. Cary's diary that the Chickamauga 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 195 

arrived at Wilmington, where this young officer unfort- 
unately * slipped up on his expectations,' on the 19th 
of November without having fallen in with, taken, or 
destroyed a single United States vessel. The coaling 
at Bermuda therefore did not the least injury to the 
United States, and cannot in any point of view found a 
claim for damages." 

Lord Chief-Justice Cockburn's satirical quotation of 
a bit of American boy's slang, as italicized above, gives 
my brother occasion to observe that his unpretending 
little journal "evoked the sole suggestion of humor that 
appears to have enlivened the grave international pro- 
ceedings here concerned." 

To go back to the beginning of the Chickamauga*s 
cruise in October, 1864, succeeding a long delay in Wil- 
mington harbor and several abortive attempts to nose 
her way out through the blockading squadron. "In 
profound silence; lights all dowsed, engine hatches and 
even the slightest glow of the binnacle lamp alike 
carefully shrouded; her furnaces crammed with picked 
Cardiff coal that would neither smoke nor flare from 
the funnels, deck orders were passed in whispers. At 
last we were off, on a wild night of October 28th, with 
easterly squalls and inky skies and a lumpy sea — creep- 
ing at first, furtively. . . . Some of the obstructing 
ships were dimly seen tossing like tiny dots against a 
ragged eastern sky line." 

Here is how running the blockade appeared to Mid- 
shipman Cary, "on duty forward in the darkness and 
slop of the top-gallant-forecastle deck, feeling the quiver- 
ing plunges of the little cruiser and the chill edges of 
the short rough seas which bucketted down my shivery 
neck. 



196 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

"A shuddering anxious touch on the sand rip, and 
then signal lights in jagged lines of red and white sud- 
denly flashed across the broken water; there was a glare 
of partial broadsides, lighting alien guns and guns' 
crews and a bit of black rigging overhead; there were 
the whiz of harmless shells aloft, then a puzzled lull 
among the enemy, followed by their chasing rockets! 
Meanwhile the Chickamauga underwent a lively change! 
On the instant her sloppy staggering decks became the 
scene of greatest activity. Back went the coal bags 
(extra cruising fuel piled forward to lighten her after 
weight) hustled aft, somehow or anyhow, whether on 
trucks or by hand; to clear the guns and charge the 
trim, with officers in full swing of commanding energy; 
the boatswain and his mates heard at over concert pitch, 
using characteristic language — and the Chickamauga 
escaped her foe, going away eastward at her best four- 
teen knot gait!" 

Next morning, eluding a persistent chaser, the cruiser 
began her hot work of as active a career of destruction 
as may be found. Upon her first prize, the bark 
Mark L. Potter, were found china-ware of which they 
had almost none, and all sorts of food from " plum-pud- 
ding to pickles." Close by the Capes of Delaware three 
more prizes fell into their hands — the bark Emily D. 
Hall, sugar laden from Cardenas to Boston; the crack 
clipper ship Shootitjg Star, *'a cloud of snowy canvas 
from her graceful hull to her tapering top-gallant masts," 
and another bark, the Albion Lincoln, which, bonded 
and released, served to relieve them of the four crews 
of paroled prisoners already in their hands. The 
Shooting Star, from New York, with supplies for the 
United States Pacific Squadron, was a rich find, contain- 
ing, above all things desirable, a cargo of fine coal. Her 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 197 

burning in the winter twilight was a glorious spectacle, 
the comedy element of her capture being that of the 
captain's wife, Mrs. Drinkwater, "who ignominiously 
routed in turn all the young officers of the Chickamauga" 
until the Lincoln relieved them of the shrewish lady's 
presence. 

Struck by a gale of wind lasting seven days, the Chick- 
amauga then made her way to Bermuda, where our 
midshipman was sent ashore to face Yellow Jack and 
look up deserters, and, after sundry individual advent- 
ures, set sail again in the cruiser for Wilmington and 
home, contriving to run in under the veil of a thick fog, 
upon whose sudden lifting next morning they found 
themselves face to face with the whole blockading squad- 
ron of the enemy! After an hour's hot fight, shot and 
shell raining fiercely around them, Fort Fisher came to 
their aid, firing aimlessly but enough to frighten off 
the fleet. "We started in, got stuck on a sand bar, when 
behold the blockaders were down on us again, but by 
lightening the ship we succeeded in gliding over the 
bar to safety." 

From the midshipmen of Battery Buchanan, on the 
shore at the river's mouth, a signal by flags was fluttered 
to the midshipmen on the victorious Chickamauga, to 
this import: "For Heaven's sake send us some Yankee 
china. We are eating our soup out of cigar boxes!'* 
This, when Captain Wilkinson and his first lieutenant 
of the Chickamauga were eagerly expecting official in- 
structions, may have been said to break down the cer- 
emony of the occasion! 

A brief rest for our youngster brought him to Christ- 
mas holidays of a memorable sort. By requisition of 
Major-General Whiting, commanding the land forces at 
Yoxx Fisher, soon to be the scene of fierce conflict, my 



198 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

brother was sent with two lieutenants and twenty-five 
picked men of the Chickamaugas crew, to man navy 
guns mounted on unfinished batteries within the fort. 
On Christmas eve the United States fleet with 580 
guns, headed by iron-clads, moved in and attacked the 
fort, throwing all kinds of projectiles from a three-inch 
bolt to a fifteen-inch shell. "The grandest sight of my 
life," wrote the young participant. "The firing on both 
sides was heavy all day." 

Our one Christmas gift that year, received with tears 
and smiles, was an item in the official report of Major- 
General Whiting, sent on from the Navy Department 
by our good friend Commodore S. S. Lee, whose son, 
Daniel Murray Lee, was a midshipman on the Chicka- 
mauga. 

"To passed Midshipman Cary, I wish to give personal 
thanks. Though wounded, he reported after the burst- 
ing of his gun to repel the threatened assault, and ac- 
tively assisted Colonel Tansill on the land front." 

We had already heard that our boy's wound was on 
the mend, and could afford to rejoice without alloy. 

From the law offices of Cary & Whitridge, 59 Wall 
Street, New York, in 1902, my brother wrote to me as 
follows: 

"The enclosed may interest you, for certainly the 
circumstance is extraordinary, if only in the sense that 
it can never possibly — with all its antecedents, etc. — 
occur again." 

Extract of letter from Bartlett S. Johnson to Clar- 
ence Cary, dated December 3, 1902: 

"What you say about the three Confederate midship- 
men on the Virginia Debt Reorganization Committee 
had already occurred to me. I think it shows that our 
fasting and privation kept our stomachs in good shape 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 199 

and still keeps us among the live men of the day. 
Then our grit — pardon me for classing myself with you 
and Newton — has something to do with it. I always 
had more than a friendly feeling toward you. It is 
close to affection, and dates back from the day when 
the men cheered you after Fort Fisher fight." 

Mr. Cary further writes to his sister: 

"This correspondence shows a bit of diversion by 
the way in the thorny paths of business. I think you 
will feel a sort of clutch about the throat if not a slight 
moisture of the eyes. Of course the 'cheering' re- 
ferred to our ship's little ragged remnant of mates re- 
turning after hard knocks. 

**We had an exposed, unfinished part of the fort to 
hold, had to show off before the soldier chaps and had 
our own two big guns burst under our noses, the whole 
with a net result that nineteen out of our twenty-six 
men were killed or wounded, 

"So you see it was not unnatural that our ship- 
mates aboard of the C. S. Chickamauga should give us 
a cheer when we got back; or perhaps that the army 
and the other forts along our route did likewise. I 
protest, as Thackeray would say, I can't now think with 
equanimity of that ox-cart load of removable wounded 
and their ragged, bandaged, shabby survivors alongside, 
stumbling through the heavy sand, after two days of 
hell, la bas, in Fort Fisher. It seems so ridiculously 
far off, too, and there is a pathetic side about the youth 
of its actors. Our oldest must have been Lieutenant 
Roby, of the mature age of twenty-six. Dornin, the 
other lieutenant, perhaps a year older, stayed behind 
to await amputation that day performed upon his leg." 

As a final chapter of this episode, I have received, when 
my work is nearly finished, a letter from my brother's 



200 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

friend and shipmate of Confederate navy days, Colonel 
James Morris Morgan, of Washington, himself suffi- 
ciently acquainted with the methods of gallant service 
to be a trusted reporter of Mr. Cary's youthful prowess. 

"When Fort Fisher was threatened, two of the guns 
of the Chickamauga were taken ashore and mounted in 
the fort. Midshipman Cary was in charge of one of 
them, and during the battle his gun burst, killing and 
wounding some twenty odd men who were standing near 
it. Cary was unhurt and, walking up to General Whit- 
ing, asked if he could not give him something more to 
do. The Federal fleet was at that time sweeping the 
beach with six hundred guns. General Whiting ex- 
pressed his desire to get a communication to a detached 
battery some hundreds of yards away, but said he would 
not order any man to carry it, as he considered it hardly 
possible that the feat could be accomplished under such 
a fire. Midshipman Cary begged to be allowed to at- 
tempt the perilous journey. Lieutenant Roby and Mid- 
shipman Berrian, who were present, described the scene 
to me, and several of my old classmates, who were with 
the Federal fleet, have borne testimony to the accuracy 
of their statements. 

" It seems that hardly had the little midshipman started 
on his way when the shells from the fleet ploughed the 
sand from under his feet and down he went into the 
hole made. There was a groan from the fort as some 
one exclaimed, 'Little Cary's gone!' and then, to their 
relief, they saw him struggle to his feet and trudge on. 
This happened again and again, until at last, as he neared 
the battery, a shell was seen to explode very near him 
which fairly buried him in the sand. All in the fort gave 
him up for dead when, suddenly, to their amazement, 
they saw him totter to his ^Qtt again, though wounded in 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 201 

the leg. The fleet ceased firing and, as he staggered on 
to his destination, both the men in the fort and on board 
the fleet broke into a mighty cheer. This is the only oc- 
casion I ever knew of during the war when a man heard 
both sides cheer him." 

The engagement of my cousin Hetty Cary to Briga- 
dier-General John Pegram having been announced, their 
decision to be married on January 19 was a subject 
of active interest. My aunt, Mrs. Wilson Miles Cary, 
of Baltimore, had before Christmas obtained from Mr. 
Lincoln, through General Barnard (chief of the United 
States Engineer Corps, married to her adopted daugh- 
ter), a pass to go to Richmond to visit her children. The 
presence of Mrs. Cary gave General Pegram opportunity 
to urge that his marriage should not be longer delayed, 
and such preparations as were possible were hurried on. 
My aunt was stopping at the house of her niece, Mrs. 
Peyton, w ence the ceremony took place. On the even- 
ing of ]c luary 19 all our little world flocked to St. 
Paul's Church to see the nuptials of one called by many 
the most beautiful woman in the South, with a son 
of Richmond universally honored and beloved. Two 
days before, I being confined to my room with a cold, 
Hetty had come, bringing her bridal veil that I, with 
our mothers, might be the first to see it tried on her 
lovely crown of auburn hair. As she turned from the 
mirror to salute us with a charming blush and smile, the 
mirror fell and was broken to small fragments, an 
accident afterward spoken of by the superstitious as 
one of a strange series of ominous happenings. 

While a congregation that crowded floor and galler- 
ies of the church waited an unusually long time for the 
arrival of bride and groom, my aunt and the other mem- 



202 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

bers of our family being already in their seats, I stood 
in the vestibule outside with Burton Harrison and Colo- 
nel L. Q. C. Lamar, speculating rather uneasily upon 
the cause of the delay. Mr. Harrison told us that Mrs. 
Davis (who tenderly loved and admired the bride) had 
begged to be allowed to send the President's carriage 
to drive her to the church, and he was sure it had been 
in prompt attendance at Colonel Peyton's door. Di- 
rectly after, a shabby old Richmond hack drove up, halt- 
ing before the church, and from it issued the bride and 
groom, looking a little perturbed, explaining that at the 
moment of setting out the President's horses had reared 
violently, refusing to go forward, and could not be con- 
trolled, so that they had been forced to get out of the 
carriage and send for another vehicle, at that date al- 
most impossible to secure in Richmond. 

When the noble-looking young couple crossed the 
threshold of the church, my cousin dropped her lace 
handkerchief and, nobody perceiving it, stoop( 1 forward 
to pick it up, tearing the tulle veil over her i ce to al- 
most its full length, then, regaining herself, walked with 
a slow and stately step toward the altar. As she passed 
there was a murmur of delight at her beauty, never 
more striking. Her complexion of pearly white, the 
vivid roses on her cheeks and lips, the sheen of her radi- 
ant hair, and the happy gleam of her beautiful brown 
eyes seemed to defy all sorrow, change, or fear. John 
Pegram, handsome and erect, looked as he felt, trium- 
phant, the prize-winner — so the men called him — of the 
invincible beauty of her day. Miss Gary's brother. 
Captain Wilson Miles Gary, representing her absent 
father, gave away the bride. After the ceremony we, 
her nearest, crowded around the couple, wishing them 
the best happiness our loving hearts could picture. 



RECOLLFXTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 203 

General Pegram's mother, brothers, and sisters did the 
same; then, as they passed out, all eyes followed them 
with real kindness and unalloyed good feeling. There 
was but a small reception afterward, but one felt in the 
atmosphere a sense of sincere gladness in happy love, 
very rare on such occasions. 

Three weeks later, to the day. General Pegram's cof- 
fin, crossed with a victor's palms beside his soldier's 
accoutrements, occupied the spot in the chancel where 
he had stood to be married. Beside it knelt his widow 
swathed in crape. Again Dr. Minnegerode conducted 
the ceremony, again the church was full. Behind the 
hearse, waiting outside, stood his war charger, with boots 
in stirrups. The wailing of the band that went with 
us on the slow pilgrimage to Hollywood will never die 
out of memory. Burton Harrison drove in the carriage 
with me and my mother, my poor cousin with her 
mother, brother, and General Custis Lee, her husband's 
intimate friend, who stood beside her, as, leaning on her 
brother's arm, she remained during the service close to 
the grave. General Pegram's family clustered beyond 
her. Snow lay white on the hill-sides, the bare trees 
stretched their arms above us, the river kept up its 
ceaseless rush and tumble, so much a part of daily life 
in our four years of ordeal that we had grown accus- 
tomed to interpret its voice according to our joy or grief. 

The newly married couple had gone directly to Gen- 
eral Pegram's head-quarters, near Petersburg, where he 
was at the head of Early's division. Their new home 
was in a pleasant farm-house nine miles out of Peters- 
burg, close to the line of General Pegram's command, 
near Hatcher's Run. Here, within constant sound of 
shot and shell, her taste and skill busied itself in fitting 
up rooms that seemed to her soldier the perfection of 



204 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

beauty and comfort, and in preparing for him little dishes 
that transformed their ordinary fare. When she rode 
beside him during their short honey-moon, the men 
thronged to look at her with pride in their leader's lovely 
wife. On February 5 a demonstration was made by 
the enemy against General Lee's extreme right, in which 
General Pegram's forces were engaged. He returned 
to their lodgings and, before daylight on the 6th, was 
aroused by the information that the enemy was about 
to renew attack. His wife made coffee and prepared 
breakfast for him in the gray of dawn; then, after seeing 
him ride off, spent the day with her mother, who had 
fortunately arrived upon a visit to her son. Captain 
Cary. As the short winter's day closed in, a messenger 
arrived from General Pegram to say he had come safely 
through the fight. 

The ladies were at this time sitting in an ambulance at 
some distance away carding lint. At sunset a new charge 
was formed against the enemy, General Pegram lead- 
ing it, sword in hand, when a minie-ball (claimed to have 
been fired by a sharp-shooter a great way off) entered 
his heart, killing him instantly, after striking the sword 
from his hand and filling its scabbard with his blood. 
Of his comrades, none was found who would volunteer 
to break the news to my cousin. 

Captain Gordon McCabe, of Richmond, a close friend 
of General Pegram, has thus written to me: 

" I can tell you of the tragic time after he was killed, 
when our guns pulled past the ambulance where she was 
carding lint and I heard her laughing merrily within. 
I knew he was dead, shot at the head of his division, 
while she sat there waiting for him to come to her. 
After his body had been tenderly placed in the room 
used as the adjutant-general's office at head-quarters, 



RKCOLLIXTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 205 

word was sent to her that "she might safely return to 
their quarters and go to bed, for it would be late before 
he could get back." So she slept peacefully that night, 
in the room above his body — a bride of three weeks. 

In the morning an old gentleman, a civilian, volun- 
teered to go up and call her down to where Pegram lay. 
Kneeling beside the body, she put her hand into the 
breast of his coat, drawing out first his watch, still tick- 
ing, that she had wound for him just before they parted; 
next, a miniature of herself, both stained with life blood. 
My aunt and her son accompanied the widow to Rich- 
mond in a freight car, she sitting beside the coffin. 
No one of us is likely to forget the sad days that followed. 
She was like a flower broken in the stalk. 

Another ordeal was in store for her in the death in 
battle of General Pegram's younger brother. Colonel 
William Pegram, who fell in the retreat from Petersburg. 
To remain with the mother of these heroes, during her 
time of crushing grief, was my cousin's loving duty. A 
short time after the occupation, Mrs. Cary and Mrs. 
Pegram, accompanied by Captain Cary, returned to 
their home in Baltimore, with a free pass from Gen- 
eral Grant. 

At the end of March hope in the stoutest spirits seemed 
to flicker but feebly and the ultimate failure of the Con- 
federacy to be a foregone conclusion. Coming in late 
from a walk on the evening of March 29, I found to 
my surprise a note from Burton Harrison, who had 
called in my absence to say that he was unexpectedly 
desired to take charge of Mrs. Davis, her sister, and the 
Davis children on a "visit" to Charlotte, North Caro- 
lina. He had just been for a farewell visit to Mrs. Wil- 
son Miles Cary and Mrs. Pegram — "the saddest I ever 
knew" — and must hasten to the train, hoping to be back 



2o6 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

in town ere long, to find me "well and happy and light 
of heart." 

When I saw him again, it was in the following au- 
tumn, behind prison bars, after months of solitary con- 
finement succeeding his capture with the chief whose 
fortunes he loyally chose to follow, when a dozen times 
he might have found opportunity to avoid his subse- 
quent hard fate. 



CHAPTER X 

ON the morning of April 2, a perfect Sunday of 
the Southern spring, a large congregation assem- 
bled as usual at St. Paul's. I happened to sit 
in the rear of the President's pew, so near that I plainly 
saw the sort of gray pallor that came upon his face as 
he read a scrap of paper thrust into his hand by a mes- 
senger hurrying up the middle aisle. With stern set 
lips and his usual quick military tread, he left the church, 
a number of other people rising in their seats and hasten- 
ing after him, those who were left swept by a universal 
tremor of alarm. The rector, accustomed as he was 
to these frequent scenes in church, came down to the 
altar rail and tenderly begged his people to remain and 
finish the service, which was done. 

Before dismissing his congregation the rector an- 
nounced to them that General Ewell had summoned 
the local forces to meet for defence of the city at three 
in the afternoon. We knew then that Longstreet's reg- 
ulars must have been suddenly called away, and a sick 
apprehension filled all hearts. 

On the sidewalk outside the church we plunged at 
once into the great stir of evacuation, preluding the 
beginning of a new era. As if by a flash of electricity, 
Richmond knew that on the morrow her streets would 
be crowded with her captors, her rulers fled, her govern- 
ment dispersed into thin air, her high hopes crushed to 
earth. There was little discussion of events. People 
meeting each other would exchange silent hand grasps 

207 



2o8 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

and pass on. I saw many pale faces, some trembling 
lips, but in all that day I heard no expression of a weak- 
ling fear. Movement was everywhere, nowhere panic. 
Begarlanded Franklin Street, sending up perfume from 
her many gardens, was the general rendezvous of people 
who wanted to see the last of their friends. All over 
town citizens were aiding the departure of the mala 
members of their family who could in any way serve 
the dispossessed government. In the houses we knew, 
there was everywhere somebody to be helped to go; 
somebody for whose sake tears were squeezed back, 
scant food prepared, words of love and cheer spoken. 
Those good, dear women of Richmond, who had been 
long tried as by fire, might bend but would not break. 

Between two and three in the afternoon formal an- 
nouncement was made to the public that the govern- 
ment would vacate Richmond that evening. By night- 
fall all the flitting shadows of a Lost Cause had passed 
away under a heaven studded by bright stars. The 
doomed city lay face to face with what it knew not. 

In my "Confederate Album" is the original telegram 
from General J. C. Breckinridge, Secretary of War, to 
President Davis at Danville, describing the evacuation 
of Richmond. It is written upon a half sheet of cheap 
yellowish paper, and marked **2o6 / Collect 103.00," 
and runs as follows: 

"Red House, via Clover Station, 
"R. & D. R. R. 
"The Presdt. 

"Evacuation of Richmond completed in order on 
morning of third. Genl. Lee concentrated pretty well 
about Amelia C. H. on 5th, but enemy occupied Junc- 
tion that evening, and our forces moved during the night 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 209 

and morning of the 6th to Rice's Station. During the 
morning we captured some eight hundred (800) pris- 
oners, but in afternoon met a serious reverse, and por- 
tion of army placed across Appomattox at High Bridge 
and other points. I left Genl, Lee at Farmville yester- 
day morning, where he was passing main body across 
the River for temporary relief. He will still try to move 
around towards North Carolina. There was very little 
firing yesterday and I hear none to-day. No definite 
information as to movements of enemy from Junction 
towards Danville. Stoneman's advance reported yes- 
terday to be near Liberty. Lomax reports enemy in 
considerable force advancing up Shenandoah Valley. 
No news from Echols, but he is supposed to be close on 
Stoneman's rear. Genl. Lee has sent orders to Lomax 
to unite with Echols against Stoneman and to Colston 
to make firm defence at Lynchburg. The straggling 
has been great and the situation not favorable. Genls. 
Gilmer, Lawton, and St. John are with me. We will 
join you as soon as possible. 

"J. C. Breckinridge, 

''Secy, of Warr 

I had gone with my brother to the station in the 
afternoon, and saw him off with a heart that for the first 
time in our war partings felt heavier than lead. His 
farewell present to me was a ham, of which he unex- 
pectedly came into possession after we had said good- 
by, sending it to me by a negro tipped with a large 
amount of Confederate currency, who, to his honor be 
it said, was faithful to his trust. My brother was aware 
that in addition to leaving me alone in our lodging (in 
my mother's absence, gone to nurse my cousin Ethel- 
bert Fairfax, wpunded in the battle of Bentonville in 



210 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

North Carolina) our larder was very nearly bare. I 
had promised them if an emergency arose to go to my 
uncle's house, where I presently arrived, my ham fol- 
lowing! 

I insert a letter written at this time: 

"Grace Street, Richmond, April 4, 1865. 
"My Precious Mother and Brother: 

"I write you this jointly, because I can have no idea 
where Clarence is. Can't you imagine with what a 
heavy heart I begin it — ? The last two days have added 
long years to my life. I have cried until no more tears 
will come, and my heart throbs to bursting night and 
day. When I bade you good-bye, dear, and walked 
home alone, I could not trust myself to give another 
look after you. All that evening the air was full of fare- 
wells as if to the dead. Hardly anybody went to bed. 
We walked through the streets like lost spirits till 
nearly daybreak. My dearest mother, it is a special 
Providence that has spared you this! Your going to 
nurse poor Bert at this crisis has saved you a shock I 
never can forget. With the din of the enemy's wagon 
trains, bands, trampling horses, fifes, hurrahs and can- 
non ever in my ears, I can hardly write coherently. As 
you desired, in case of trouble, I left our quarters and 
came over here to be under my uncle's wing. In Aunt 
M.'s serious illness the house is overflowing; there was 
not a room or a bed to give me, but that made no differ- 
ence, they insisted on my staying all the same. Up 
under the roof there was a lumber-room with two win- 
dows and I paid an old darkey with some wrecks of food 
left from our housekeeping, to clear it out, and scrub 
floor and walls and windows, till all was absolutely clean. 
A cot was found and some old chairs and tables — our 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 211 

own bed linen was brought over, and here I write in 
comparative comfort, so don't bother about me! 

"Hardly had I seemed to have dropped upon my bed 
that dreadful Sunday night — or morning rather — when 
I was wakened suddenly by four terrific explosions, one 
after the other, making the windows of my garret shake. 
It was the blowing up, by Admiral Semmes, by order 
of the Secretary of the Navy, of our gunboats on the 
James, the signal for an all-day carnival of thundering 
noise and flames. Soon the fire spread, shells in the 
burning arsenals began to explode, and a smoke arose 
that shrouded the whole town, shutting out every ves- 
tige of blue sky and April sunshine. Flakes of fire fell 
around us, glass was shattered, and chimneys fell, even 
so far as Grace Street from the scene. 

"By the middle of the day poor Aunt M.'s condition 
became sd much worse in consequence of the excite- 
ment, the doctor said she positively could not stand any 
further sudden alarm. His one comfort is that you, his 
dear sister, are taking care of his wounded boy of whom 
his wife has been told nothing. It was suggested that 
some of us should go to head-quarters and ask, as our 
neighbors were doing, for a guard for the house where 
an invalid lay so critically ill. Edith and I were the 
volunteers for service, and set out for the Capitol Square, 
taking our courage in both hands. Looking down from 
the upper end of the square, we saw a huge wall of fire 
blocking out the horizon. In a few hours no trace was 
left of Main, Cary, and Canal Streets, from 8th to i8th 
Streets, except tottering walls and smouldering ruins. 
The War Department was sending up jets of flame. 
Along the middle of the streets smouldered a long pile, 
like street-sweepings, of papers torn from the diff^erent 
departments' archives of our beloved Government, from 



212 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

which soldiers in blue were picking out letters and doc- 
uments that caught their fancy. The Custom House 
was the sole building that defied the fire amongst those 
environing the Square. The marble Statesman on the 
Monument looked upon queer doings that day, inside 
the enclosure from which all green was soon scorched 
out, or trampled down by the hoofs of cavalry horses 
picketted at intervals about it. Mr. Reed's Church, 
Mrs. Stanard's house, the Prestons' house, are all 
burned; luckily the Lee house and that side of Franklin 
stand uninjured. General Lee's house has a guard 
camped in the front yard. 

"We went on to the head-quarters of the Yankee Gen- 
eral in chargeof Richmond, that day of doom, and I must 
say were treated with perfect courtesy and consideration. 
We saw many people we knew on the same errand as 

ourselves. We heard stately Mrs. and the 's 

were there to ask for food, as their families were starv- 
ing. Thank God, we have not fallen to that! Certainly, 
her face looked like a tragic mask carved out of stone. 

"A courteous young Heutenant, now General Peck, 
U. S. A., was sent to pilot us out of the confusion, and 
identify the house, over which a guard was immediately 
placed. Already the town wore the aspect of one in the 
Middle Ages smitten by pestilence. The streets filled 
with smoke and flying fire were empty of the respectable 
class of inhabitants, the doors and shutters of every 
house tight closed. 

"I ought to tell you the important news that your tin 
box of securities is safe and in my keeping. How do 
you think this happened .? On Sunday, after Clarence 
left, and we were wandering around the streets like 

forlorn ghosts, I chanced to meet our friend, Mr. , 

the president of the Bank, in which I knew you 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 213 

kept them. He was very pale and wretched looking, 
said he could not vouch for the safe-keeping of anybody's 
property, asked after you and wondered if I would feel 
like taking your papers in charge. I walked with him 
to the bank where he put the box in my hands and then 
I hurried back with it to my uncle's house. I slept 
with the papers under my head Sunday night, and spent 
Monday afternoon in ripping apart the trimming of my 
gray beige skirt. You know that trimming, like a wide 
battlement of brown silk all around the hem ? Well, into 
this wall of Troy I sewed with the tightest stitches I 
could make (you would say those were nothing to boast 
of, remembering the sleeve that came apart) every one 
of your precious documents. And here I am with the 
family fortune stitched into my frock, which I have 
determined to wear every day with a change of white 
bodices, till I see you or can get to some place where it 
is safe to take it off. . . ." 

I will say in concluding the episode of the hidden pa- 
pers, that the next day after I had received them, the bank 
went down in the track of the awful Main Street fire, its 
contents destroyed utterly. I continued to wear the 
skirt, heartily sick of it before I dared lay the thing aside, 
until the day in late April when I went by flag of truce 
to Baltimore, and there, at the home of my uncle, Mr. 
Cary, extracted the papers, put them in a new tin box, 
and consigned them to proper safe-keeping. I have 
certainly never since worn a gown of the value of that 
one, ungratefully cast aside at the first opportunity! 

"And what will you say when I tell you that my one 
and only book, like poor Mr. John R. Thompson's 
'Across the Atlantic,' has gone up in flames and smoke, 
in the establishment of 'Messrs. West and Johnson, 
Publishers,' who lost everything in the fire .? A little 



214 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

while ago, I should have wanted to cry over this calam- 
ity. So many pages of good Confederate fool's cap 
closely scribbled over; so much eloquence and pathos 
lost to the world forever! Really now, joking apart, if 
West and Johnson, who are clever men, hadn't thought 
it worth publishing they wouldn't have accepted it, 
would they ? Now — now — nothing seems to hurt much, 
in the fall of our Confederacy. Perhaps my poor 
'Skirmishing' has made more of a blaze in the world 
in this way, than it ever would have done in the ordi- 
nary course of events!" 

Certainly that conclusion was the wisest I could have 
arrived at, and I lived to rejoice that this jejune effort 
never saw daylight! It was years before I again ven- 
tured into print. But I should like now to know what 
it was all about! 

To resume the letter to my mother and brother: 
"The ending of the first day of occupation was truly 
horrible. Some negroes of the lowest grade, their heads 
turned by the prospect of wealth and equality, together 
with a mob of miserable poor whites, drank themselves 
mad with liquor scooped from the gutters. Reinforced, 
it was said, by convicts escaped from the penitentiary, 
they tore through the streets, carrying loot from the 
burnt district." (For days after, even the kitchens and 
cabins of the better class of darkies displayed hand- 
some oil paintings and mirrors, rolls of stuff, rare books, 
and barrels of sugar and whiskey.) "One gang of 
drunken rioters dragged coffins sacked from under- 
takers, filled with spoils from the speculators' shops, 
howling so madly one expected to hear them break into 
the Carmagnole. Thanks to our trim Yankee guard 
in the basement, we felt safe enough, but the experience 
was not pleasant. 



RKCOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 215 

"Through all this strain of anguish ran Hke a gleam of 
gold the mad vain hope that Lee would yet make a stand 
somewhere — that Lee's dear soldiers would give us back 
our liberty. 

"Dr. Minnegerode has been allowed to continue his 
daily services and I never knew anything more painful 
and touching than that of this morning when the Litany 
was sobbed out by the whole congregation, 

"A service we went to the same evening at the old 
Monumental I never shall forget. When the rector 
prayed for 'the sick and wounded soldiers and all in 
distress of mind or body/ there was a brief pause, filled 
with a sound of weeping all over the church. He then 
gave out the hymn: 'When gathering clouds around 
I view.' There was no organ and a voice that started 
the hymn broke down in tears. Another took it up, 
and failed likewise. I, then, with a tremendous struggle 
for self-control, stood up in the corner of the pew and 
sang alone. At the words, 'Thou Saviour see'st the 
tears I shed,' there was again a great burst of crying and 
sobbing all over the church, I wanted to break down 
dreadfully, but I held on and carried the hymn to the 
end. As we left the church, many people came up and 
squeezed my hand and tried to speak, but could not. 
Just then a splendid military band was passing, the like 
of which we had not heard in years. The great swell 
of its triumphant music seemed to mock the shabby 
broken-spirited congregation defiling out of the gray old 
church buried in shadows, where in early Richmond 
days a theatre with many well-known citizens was 
burned! That was one of the tremendous moments of 
feeling I experienced that week. 

"Dear Aunt E (Mrs. Hyde) is still at Camp 

Winder, not yet reorganized under Federal rule. (I 



2i6 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

hope the poor creatures there will fare better than we 
could make them!) She wants to send to Redlands for 
Meta, and then go through the Hnes to Bert Mason's 
place as soon as the way is clear. She has been with 
me to-day and yesterday and says I must tell you her 
heart is broken. 

"I walked around to the Campbells' this morning. 
The Judge's quiet determination to remain on in Rich- 
mond has produced some criticism, but his friends say 
that is nonsense. I looked over at the President's house, 
and saw the porch crowded with Union soldiers and poli- 
ticians, the street in front filled with curious gaping 
negroes who have appeared in swarms Hke seventeen- 
year locusts. The young leaves are just shaking out, 
the fruit trees a mass of blossoms — the grass vividly 
green, the air nectar. I come in from my melancholy 
walks and sit in this dull garret, and pine and yearn for 
— what .? 

"I have just seen the Evening Whig^ issued under 
direction of a Northern editor. Governor Weitzel, 
the new U. S. Commandant, says in his telegram 
to Stanton: 'The people received us with the wildest 
joy.' That scene in the Monumental Church looked 
hke it, don't you think so } Mr. R. D'Orsey Ogden 
reopens the theatre to-night with one of his blood-and- 
thunder plays. Invitations have been sent to Lincoln 
and Stanton to be present at the manoeuvres (here a 
piece is torn from the original) the first we have had since 
the Occupation. Some of the shops in Broad Street are 
already restocked and opened by their Jewish propri- 
etors and are doing a flourishing trade in greenback 
currency. We went into the Hall of Congress, finding 
there a sable official in uniform, seated writing at the 
Speaker's desk. In the State Library there have been 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 217 

many pilferings of coins, medals and valuable papers. 
I noticed they had removed from the library railings 
all the captured Federal banners with which we had 
been able abundantly to drape them/* 

Another letter of this time, addressed to Burton Har- 
rison, then supposed to be with the Confederate Pres- 
ident at Danville, Virginia, describes my efforts to meet 
his request (in a note sent in some way to me) to secure 
some packages of private letters left with his belongings 
at the President's house. 

"I had hoped that your things had been sent to your 
uncle's home, but Mrs. Samuel Harrison informs me 
this is not so. She suggesting that the President's 
housekeeper may be still in the house, I found this to be 
the case, so I went to the Campbells', and sent a message 
across the street to ask Mrs. O'C. to come to me, which 
she did immediately. She was very nice and obliging, 
but when I asked about your trunks, said she had 
delivered all of your luggage to James Brown, your old 
servant at the President's, to deposit at your uncle's 
house. I asked where James could be found but felt 
rather hopeless, thinking a darkey's probable view of 
the situation would include his right to everything left 
behind by the Southern Government. Fancy my delight 
when, soon after, while engaged in packing at our for- 
saken lodgings, James Brown himself walked in on me 
with a perfectly beaming face. We had a conference, 
and it appeared he had the trunks, letters, clothes, books 
all safe, waiting a good chance to carry them himself 
to your uncle's, fearing they might be overhauled by 
Federal authority. I could not induce James to under- 
stand that my authority extended to letters alone, and 
finally had to break down in a hearty laugh when he 



2i8 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

persisted in enumerating the garments packed : 'clothes 
on top of books, collars, and Httle things in trays,* etc., 
etc., with much minuteness of detail. 

"*It's all right, James; all I want is for you to get 
those letters out and bring them to me, and send the 
trunks to Mr, Samuel Harrison's.' 

"'Suttenly, miss, suttenly. I perfectly apprehend the 
situation,' is what James answered. *An' I tell you 
truly that I have a prominent affection for Colonel 
Harrison. If he was a mother or a brother to me, I 
couldn't love him any better.' 

"He suggested, before we parted, that the hardest 
trouble of your lot must be your inability to send me any 
more little notes by him, saying: *I don' know jes how 
it kin be managed, miss, unless Colonel Harrison could 
somehow dodge the government an' git to see you. 
Don' you think he mout dodge the government, miss ?' 

"While I write there is a commotion in the streets 
and rumor of a reverse to Yankee arms. Oh! if I 
dared believe it! A young woman has just passed wear- 
ing a costume composed of United States flags. The 
streets fairly swarm with blue uniforms and negroes 
decked in the spoils of jewelry shops, etc. It is no 
longer our Richmond, yet sometimes our eyes have a 
rest and are gladdened by the gray uniforms of the Con- 
federate surgeons left here on parole to attend our sick 
and wounded soldiers. When one of them goes by, in- 
stantly every shutter is flung wide open, every cheek 
fluhes, every eye sparkles a welcome. One of the girls 
tells me she finds great comfort in singing 'Dixie* with 
her head buried in a feather pillow. My dear uncle, 
the most saintly of men, to-day read prayers to his 
assembled family, and having in hand an old-time 
prayer-book, inadvertently read out the petition for 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 219 

*the President of these United States/ Edith, his 
youngest daughter, on our arising from our knees, im- 
mediately cried out in reproachful tones, *Oh! papa. 
You prayed for the President of the United States!* 
*Did I?* said the good old doctor ruefully. 'Devil 
fetch him!' at which we all laughed. 

"Last night, from the sweetest of dreams, I was 
aroused by a band playing * Annie Laurie* so beauti- 
fully it seemed to chime with my happier thoughts. Di- 
rectly it changed to the majestic strains of 'The Star- 
Spangled Banner,' which I had not heard in four years. 
In one minute I was broad awake and weeping. Oh! 
that such a noble air should send such a pang to rend 
me! 

"To-day, Mr. Lincoln, seated in an ambulance with 
his son Tad upon his knee, drove down Grace Street, 
past this house, a mounted escort clattering after." 

A short time only after these letters were penned came 
the tidings of Lee's surrender, and then our streets were 
filled up again with the gray uniforms of soldiers on 
parole, dusty, threadbare, with tarnished buttons and 
insignia. I hope I may never again see men made in 
God's image wear such sad faces as they did. We girls 
and women had all we could bear hearing the heart- 
breaking story of the final days before Appomattox, 
and giving such consolation as our own rent hearts 
could offer. 

The war was over. What had it cost the country now 
to be ours again by force of arms ? "More than seven 
hundred men a day," says Professor Woodrow Wilson 
in his " History of the American People," " for every day 
of the four long years of campaign and battle ; four hun- 
dred killed or mortally wounded in the field, the rest 



220 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

dead of disease, exposure, accident, or the slow pains 
of imprisonment. The Federal Government had spent 
thirty-four hundred millions of dollars upon the war — 
nearly two and a half millions for every day it lasted — 
and less than eight hundred millions of that vast sum 
had come into its coffers from the taxes. More than 
twenty-six hundred millions had been added to the 
National debt. The Confederacy had piled up a debt 
upon its part of nearly fourteen hundred millions and 
had spent besides no man could say how much. The 
North had spent out of its abundance. The South had 
spent all that it had, and was stripped naked of its re- 
sources. While the war lasted, it had been stripped 
naked also of its men." 

My chief personal interest in the trend of events after 
the surrender at Appomattox lay naturally with the re- 
tiring government. The story of that retreat and the 
capture of his chief was told by Burton Harrison in 
a paper written for his sons, which the editors of the 
Century Magazine secured for publication in their num- 
ber of November, 1883. A letter from Mr. Richard 
Watson Gilder, appended to my bound copy of this 
narrative, says: "It is of absorbing interest, told with 
evident frankness and truthfulness, and with a refreshing 
sense of humor giving the comedy along with the trag- 
edy of the events. It would be one of the most inter- 
esting and important contributions to history that the 
Century has published, and I can see no reason why you 
should withhold it longer or till the generation which 
would take most interest in it, is passed away." 

The prophecy of general interest in the paper put 
forth by the editors had been assured to us on an oc- 
casion, soon after the war, when my husband reluctantly 
told the story, following a dinner at the Rev. Henry M. 



RECOLLEC'lIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 221 

Field's, at Stockbridge, Mass., where, among other hear- 
ers besides our clever and inspiring host and hostess, we 
had Mr. David Dudley Field, President Andrew White, 
of Cornell University, and Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
It is true that much was lent to the narrative by the 
teller's inimitable gift of narrative so well known to his 
friends, his extraordinary flow of words, and dramatic 
action in recital. But even among that company of an- 
tagonists in politics and principle he won sympathy and 
interest as well as full belief that the events disclosed had 
been exactly what he said of them. When he had fin- 
ished, all the guests gathered around, thanking him for a 
vividly interesting chapter of history; Mrs. Stowe, in 
particular, expressing herself as profoundly impressed 
by what she had heard — a new light thrown upon things 
misunderstood before. 

Of this story it must suffice for me to give here the 
leading incidents without detail or comment. After an 
intolerably slow journey by interrupted trains, Mr. Har- 
rison succeeded in establishing Mrs. Davis and her 
party at Charlotte, where, on Wednesday the 4th of 
April, he received a telegram from President Davis at 
Danville merely announcing that he was there. This 
was their first news of the evacuation of Richmond on 
April 2. 

Directly after Mr. Harrison joined his chief at Dan- 
ville, the President received the announcement of the 
surrender of General Lee at Appomattox, and immedi- 
ately gave his secretary orders for the withdrawal of their 
party, the staff, cabinet officers and others of the govern- 
ment, then at Danville, into North Carolina. A train 
secured by Mr. Harrison and soon crowded by depressed 
officials, their families and hangers on, was enlivened 
when en route by an explosion resulting from a young 



222 RFXOLLFXTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

officer of the Ordnance Bureau seating himself rather 
hard on the flat top of a stove, the detonation caused 
by some torpedo apphance carried in his coat-tail 
pocket! 

At Greensboro, North Carolina, there was a halt for 
consultation with General Joseph E. Johnston, whose 
army was then confronting Sherman. A conference 
was held including the President, General Johnston, 
General Breckinridge (Secretary of War), General 
Beauregard, Mr. Benjamin (Secretary of State), Mr. 
Mallory (Secretary of the Navy), Mr. Reagan (Post- 
master-General), and others, in the temporary rooms of 
Colonel John Taylor Wood, of the President's staff. 
On the next day the retiring government moved south- 
ward, the President, his staff, and some members of the 
cabinet riding their own horses. Mr. Benjamin, de- 
claring that he should not mount a horse until forced to 
do so, General Samuel Cooper (adjutant-general and 
ranking officer of the whole army), no longer a young 
man; Mr. George Davis, the Attorney-General, and 
Mr. Benjamin's brother-in-law, Mr. de Saint Martin, 
brought up the rear of the column in an ambulance. 
Once, riding back in search of this distinguished con- 
tingent, Mr. Harrison found the whole party stalled in 
a hopeless mud-hole in the darkness. 

" I could see from afar the occasional bright glow of 
Benjamin's cigar. While the others of the party were 
perfectly silent, Benjamin's silvery voice was presently 
heard as he rhythmically intoned for their comfort verse 
after verse of Tennyson's *Ode on the Death of the 
Duke of Wellington.'" 

That Mr. Benjamin could ride as well as another, 
was afterwards proved on this expedition, when he ulti- 
mately left the party and set out alone for the sea-coast. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 223 

making his way to England via Bermuda. "So long as 
he remained with us his cheery good-humor and readi- 
ness to adapt himself to the requirements of all emergen- 
cies made him a most agreeable comrade." At Yale 
College when a boy; at the bar in New Orleans; in the 
Senate of the United States from Louisiana; at first 
Attorney-General, then Secretary of War, and finally 
Secretary of State of the Confederate States at Rich- 
mond, this gentleman became Queen's Counsel at the 
London bar and had high honors bestowed on him by 
the bench and bar of the United Kingdom. 

"During all this march," wrote Mr. Harrison, "Mr. 
Davis was singularly equable and cheerful. He seemed 
to have had a great load taken from his mind, to feel 
relieved of responsibilities, and his conversation was 
very bright and agreeable. He talked of men and of 
books, particularly of Walter Scott and Byron; ofhorses 
and dogs and sports; of the woods and the fields; of 
roads and how to make them; of the habits of birds and 
of a variety of other topics. His familiarity with and 
correct taste in the English literature of the last genera- 
tion, his varied experiences in life, his habits of close 
observation, and his extraordinary memory made him 
a charming companion when disposed to talk. Indeed, 
like Mark Tapley, we were all in good spirits under ad- 
verse circumstances, and I particularly remember the 
entertaining conversation of Mr. Mallory, the Secre- 
tary of the Navy" (which does not agree with the item 
I recently found in an old letter of Major Walton's 
to Mr. Harrison, in which this secretary is styled "Mr. 
Malheureux"). 

At Charlotte it was found that Mrs. Davis and her 
party had left the day before to go further South. As 
the Presidential party entered a house with difficulty 



224 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

obtained for them (all the inhabitants fearing a threat 
made by Stoneman's troopers to burn every house giving 
refuge to Jefferson Davis), the President received by 
carrier from General Breckinridge the news of Presi- 
dent Lincoln's assassination, tidings universally re- 
gretted by the staff and following, "Everybody's re- 
mark," wrote Mr. Harrison, "was that in Lincoln the 
Southern States had lost their only refuge in their then 
emergency. There was no expression other than that 
of surprise and regret. As yet we knew none of the 
particulars of the crime." 

During the speech made at this juncture by Mr. Davis 
to a column of General Basil Duke's cavalry, Mr. Har- 
rison stood close to the speaker and heard distinctly 
every word uttered by him. There was no reference 
whatever to the assassination and no other speech was 
made. Mr. Davis's remark to Colonel William Pres- 
ton Johnston in Mr. Bates's house, later on, was that 
"Mr. Lincoln would have been much more useful to 
the Southern States than Andrew Johnson, his successor, 
was likely to be"; "I myself," said Mr. Harrison, 
"heard Mr. Davis express the same opinion at that 
period." 

So much for the oft-quoted charge against Mr. Davis 
that he had on this occasion spoken approvingly of the 
horrible crime committed by Booth in the name of the 
conquered South! My husband often told me that of 
such a spirit, much less an expression, Mr. Davis could 
never have been guilty. 

"No man ever participated," he went on to say, "in a 
great war of revolution with less of disturbance of the 
nicest sense of perfect rectitude in conduct or opinion; 
his every utterance, act, and sentiment was with the 
strictest regard for all the moralities, throughout that 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 225 

troubled time when the passions of many people made 
them reckless or defiant of the opinions of mankind. 
His cheerfulness continued in Charlotte and I remember 
his there saying to me, " I cannot feel like a beaten man." 

At Charlotte, Mr. Davis's anxiety about his wife and 
family led him to despatch his secretary to Abbeville, 
South Carolina, in search of them, using his own judg- 
ment as to what to do after he met them; the President 
himself proposing to go as rapidly as possible to the 
Trans-Mississippi Department to join the army under 
Kirby Smith. 

At Abbeville, Mr. Harrison found Mrs. Davis and 
her party comfortably installed as the guests of Colonel 
Burt. Mrs. Davis insisted upon at once seeking the 
sea-coast with a view to sailing for Europe. Had she 
remained where she was, yielding to the entreaties of 
all around her, the capture of Jefferson Davis might 
never have been a chapter of contemporaneous history. 

Mr. Harrison's party, re-enforced by two gallant vol- 
unteers, artillerymen of the Southern army. Captain 
Moody and Major Victor Maurin, proceeded in wagons, 
toilsomely southward; the men watching at night while 
the women and children slept, to guard against the 
theft of their wagons and horses by roving freebooters 
of whom the woods were full. 

At midnight, several days later, Mr. Harrison, who 
with two teamsters (old soldiers) constituted the picket- 
guard, heard the soft tread of horses approaching their 
camp on the sandy road. Ilarrison challenged and to 
his astonishment was answered by the President's voice. 
Mr. Davis was attended by Colonel William Preston 
Johnston, Colonel John Taylor Wood, Colonel Frank 
R. Lubbock, Mr. Reagan, Colonel Thorburn, and Rob- 
ert, the President's negro servant. 



226 RFXOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

This unexpected encounter kept the President with 
his family for some days, when, in compHance with the 
earnest soHcitation of the staff, he consented to leave 
them and go on unhampered by a wagon train. At the 
village of Abbeville, South Carolina, he was overtaken 
by a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning, with 
torrents of rain, and, fearing for the safety of his fam- 
ily camping out at night, again rode after them, to the 
discomfiture of the party, joining Mrs. Davis in camp 
near the little hamlet of Irwinsville in Georgia. Here, 
after promising his friends that he would leave Mrs. 
Davis's party, finally, in the morning, Mr. Davis retired 
to rest in the tent occupied by his wife. Mr. Harrison, 
overcome by fever and dysentery contracted on the jour- 
ney, threw himself on the ground not far away and fell 
into profound sleep, from which he was awakened at 
daybreak by Jones, Mrs. Davis's coachman, running to 
him saying the enemy was upon them. 

"I sprang to my feet and in an instant a rattling fire 
of musketry began on the north side of the creek. Al- 
most at the same moment Colonel Pritchard and his 
regiment charged up the road from the south upon us. 
. . . We were taken by surprise and not one of us ex- 
changed a shot with the enemy. Colonel Johnston tells 
me he was the first prisoner taken. In a moment Col- 
onel Pritchard rode directly to me and, pointing across 
the creek, said: 'What does that mean ? Have you any 
men with you ?' Supposing the firing was done by our 
teamsters, I said: 'Of course we have. Don't you hear 
the firing ?' He seemed to be netded at the reply, gave 
the order 'Charge,' and boldly led the way across the 
creek, nearly every man in his command following. 
Our camp was thus left deserted for a few minutes, 
except by one mounted soldier near Mrs. Davis's tent 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 227 

(afterward said to have been stationed there by Colonel 
Pritchard in passing), and by the few troopers who 
stopped to plunder our wagons. I had been sleeping 
on the same side of the road with the tent occupied by 
Mrs. Davis, and was then standing very near it. I saw 
her come out and say something to the soldier men- 
tioned. Perceiving she wanted him to move off, I ap- 
proached and actually persuaded the fellow to ride away. 
As the soldier moved into the road and I walked beside 
his horse, the President emerged for the first time from 
the tent at the side farther from us, and walked away 
into the woods to the eastward, at right angles from the 
road. 

''Presently, looking around and observing somebody 
had come out of the tent, the soldier turned his horse's 
head and, reaching the spot he had first occupied, was 
again approached by Mrs. Davis, who engaged him in 
conversation. This trooper was joined by perhaps two 
of his comrades. . . . They remained on horseback 
and soon became violent in their language with Mrs. 
Davis. The order to 'Halt!' was called out by one of 
them to the President. It was not obeyed, and was 
quickly repeated in a loud voice several times. At least 
one of the men then threatened to fire, and pointed a 
carbine at the President. Mrs. Davis, overcome with 
terror, cried out in apprehension, and the President 
(who had now walked sixty or eighty paces away into 
the unobstructed woods), turned around and came 
rapidly back to his wife near the tent. As the President 
reproached the soldier who was using rough language 
to his wife, one of the others, recognizing him, called 
out: 'Mr. Davis, surrender! I recognize you, sir!' 

"While these things were happening. Miss Howell 
and the children remained within the other tent. . . . 



228 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

I have not found that there was any one, excepting Mrs. 
Davis, the single trooper by her tent, and myself, v^ho 
saw all that occurred and heard all that was said at the 
time. Any one else who gives an account of it has had 
to rely upon hearsay, or his own imagination, for this 
story. . . . 

"The business of plundering commenced immediately 
after the capture; we were soon left with only what we 
had on and what we had in our pockets. . . . While 
this was going on, I emptied the contents of my haver- 
sack into a fire where some of the enemy were cook- 
ing breakfast, and there saw the papers burn. They 
were chiefly love-letters, with a photograph of my sweet- 
heart." 

The prisoners en route for Macon were allowed to ride 
their own horses (promptly seized by their captors when 
four days later they reached the railway station in that 
town), whence they were taken by train to Augusta, 
on their way to Fortress Monroe. 

What concerns Jefferson Davis in his subsequent 
terrible imprisonment at Fortress Monroe, belongs to 
history. 

The experience of Burton Harrison as a prisoner of 
war was detailed to me by him in 1904, to refresh my 
memory, during his last illness at our temporary home 
in Washington, where we had gone to pass the winter 
near our sons. While there was never any bitterness 
about it in his speech, or in his manly soul, I could not, 
even after that lapse of years, hear the recital without a 
pang of deep pain for what he had needlessly suffered. 

Whilst between him and the friends he had left in 
Richmond a black veil of silence and sickening uncer- 
tainty as to his ultimate fate had fallen, he had been con- 
fined at first in a room of the Old Capitol Prison. A 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 229 

few days later he was taken by a detective from this 
place and conducted to a room in the same building, 
under pretext of being introduced to a Confederate 
"lady" he might "like to know." Feeling instinctively 
that mischief threatened, he had no difficulty in keeping 
himself in check when in the presence of an "old un- 
tidy woman with a shifty eye," afterward identified as 
a spy for both sides, who, with every assurance of cordi- 
ality for the South, sought to lead him into conversation 
about Mr. Davis and Confederate matters in general. 
She did not name the young girl suffering from a bad 
headache, who, deadly pale, with a white bandage 
around her brow, struck him as resembling some face on 
a Roman coin. In honeyed tones the spy woman sought 
to induce both of them to join in her strictures against 
the Government and expressions of sympathy for the 
conspirators. In a flash he divined the poor girl had 
been brought there for the same purpose as himself. 
It was designed that they should talk unguardedly in 
the presence of authority. It was not until the inter- 
view — futile as to results — was over that he chanced to 
hear the detective call the young woman "Miss Surratt." 
He came away from this hateful interview feeling he had 
escaped a trap. After the disgust of it, his prison with 
the rough jailers seemed a welcome haven. 

Next day all the rebel prisoners at the Old Capitol 
were allowed to crowd to the barred windows to witness 
Sherman's imperial progress of return to Washington. 

To eyes long used to faded gray and rusty accoutre- 
ments, the vast array of blazing sheen and color seemed 
oppressive. But all the same, he said, the Johnny Rebs 
enjoyed the show hugely, not begrudging professional 
praise to military details and ensemble. 

Turning away from his window, he felt a touch upon 



230 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

his shoulder from a detective he had not before seen, 
who curtly told him he was to go to "another place." 
His prison comrades, surrounding him with handshakes 
and kind words, watched him depart sadly. The 
rumor had got abroad that Jefferson Davis's secretary 
and confidential friend was to be dealt with to the full 
rigor of the law. 

A drive in an ambulance — in war-time serving for all 
purposes of transfer — brought him to the United States 
Arsenal, situated upon a peninsula running out from the 
marshy borders of the eastern end of the Potomac, now 
the site of the War College. It then contained, close to 
the water's edge, a group of brick buildings amid level 
military plazas, banked with pyramids of shells and balls, 
surrounded by cannon, their carriages and caissons. 
Behind a high wall towered conspicuously a sombre 
building with barred and grated windows. Old Wash- 
ington knew this as a District Penitentiary. It was 
now transformed into a military and political prison 
where, in the inner cells, were confined the prisoners 
implicated in the murder of President Lincoln. In 
the upper story was sitting a Military Commission 
whose proceedings filled the world with awesome in- 
terest. 

On every one of these piping days of early summer the 
conspirators were brought in irons through a massive 
nail-studded door communicating with the cells and 
placed in a line punctuated with armed guards, to sit 
in the court-room facing their judges and a mixed audi- 
ence, till, at the end of the day's session, they were re- 
turned to their dungeons. 

The ambulance containing the new prisoner and his 
guard was several times put out of line before the arse- 
nal door by carriage loads of fine people, the women 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 231 

dressed as if for a race day. One after the other of 
these gay parties passed in, laughing and chatting, 
under a grim wall atop of which patrols, ten feet apart, 
kept always on the lookout. It had become a modish 
thing for society to drop in for a peep at the conspira- 
tors' trial. Passes, limited to the capacity of the court- 
room, were in demand, like opera tickets to a special 
performance. 

The prisoner's last glimpse for many a day of the 
outer world was of a broad dusty avenue with shabby 
fringes of negro cabins and booths leading up to the 
entrance gate that looked like a country fair. Cattle 
with lolling tongues were there, disgruntled pigs, and 
mangy dogs getting in the way of marching soldiers and 
fashionable vehicles. To the left he saw a militar}'^ en- 
campment filling a sun-baked plain where, under shelter 
tents, soldiers off duty lounged, dozed, played cards, or 
tossed quoits. In the background of the prison two gun- 
boats kept unceasing watch upon the river front. 

The prisoner was hurried through the door, marched 
up two flights of steps, and, without warning, ushered 
before the gaze of the crowded court-room, gaping for 
new sensations, there to stand awaiting the Provost 
Marshal General to whom he was consigned. 

Without moving, he faced the ordeal, his lips set, hot 
anger coursing through his veins. Spite of his sense 
of unnecessary degradation, he noted and remembered 
well the make-up of the scene — the Judge Advocate 
General, Holt, presiding, with his swart cold face, bod- 
ing ill for a prisoner faUing under his displeasure; his 
assistants, the judges of the military commission, un- 
fortunately for themselves appointed to conduct this 
trial; the reporters of the commission; the large whis- 
pering, smiling audience; and the accused, seven men 



232 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

and one woman shackled together, almost inevitably 
doomed to death. 

When relieved from his unpleasant position by the 
arrival of the functionary who was to take official pos- 
session of his body, he was again led out of the court- 
room, through a jostling vulgar crowd, affecting to 
shrink away on either side of him as if from a monster 
ill-secured. The general, having annexed a formidable 
key, led the way, the prisoner followed by the guard 
brought up the rear, a band of vagabond loungers shuf- 
fling after them until turned back at the entrance to a 
ponderous grated door. 

Life stood still for him a long time thereafter, while 
he alternately lay or sat upon a blanket on the cemented 
floor of a felon's cell, four feet by eight, dark as night 
in daytime. During five long weeks he was forbidden 
speech with any one whomsoever. But in those days 
and nights, when he threw himself down upon the 
blanket, or else walked, or used gymnastic exercises to 
stretch his muscles and save his reason, he might have 
said what a virile poet wrote long afterward: **I am 
the Master of my Fate. I am the Captain of my 
Soul." 

He said what he minded most was the eye of a bay- 
onetted soldier, perpetually looking through the grating 
in his door. 

Of whatever his enemies might have accused him, it 
was not a failure in stoic endurance of his lot. One of 
his jailers at Fort Delaware told me afterward that 
of the many thousands they had held, no Confederate 
prisoner had borne himself with higher courage and 
cooler pluck. But that experience of the dark cell came 
near to permanent weakening of his strong physique. 
When they heard him singing and laughing to himself 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 233 

one day, the guards made haste to summon surgeon and 
provost marshal, beheving he had gone mad. 

The surgeon finding his prisoner a wreck in physical 
strength, the matter was reported to the War Depart- 
ment, after which he was given leave to take daily ex- 
ercise in the prison yard below. From this glimpse of 
the world of the living, such as it was, the return to soli- 
tary darkness became more and more exhausting to 
nerve and body. His good doctor again reporting his 
condition, he was then transferred to a cell facing the 
Capitol, through which plentiful summer sunlight sifted 
in, and he could see afar the glitter of the golden dome. 
A chair allowed him, his next demand was for a copy of 
Horace or Tennyson, for which the doctor substituted 
Louis Napoleon's "Life of Caesar," with a promise of 
more literature to follow. 

Under these changed conditions the prisoner's health 
improved daily. Although no one spoke to him of daily 
happenings, his intuition kept him actually abreast of 
the grim tragedy enacting under the roof that sheltered 
him. He said he felt like a savage trained to notice the 
dropping of a nut or the crackle of a twig. Of the 
unhappy beings on trial he knew nothing, nor had he 
any sentimental desire that they should escape justice. 
Once, walking in the prison yard, he had seen at a win- 
dow the wan face of the girl met in the spy's company 
at the Old Capitol — now the most crushed and sorrow- 
stricken creature that ever met his gaze. 

In the yard, also, he once picked up and secreted a bit 
of greasy newspaper blown from some sentry's lunch. 
From this he saw that the conspirators were hastening 
to their doom. 

When, one day, the guards failed to come for him to 
walk, and from the yard below arose a great clamor of 



234 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

saws and hammering, he surmised what was to be. 
Every night before he had heard coming through the 
ventilating tube the melancholy whistling of an oc- 
cupant of the cell beneath his, evidently absent in the 
day; for which sound he had learned to listen with 
an odd sense of companionship. That evening the 
whistle began — but was halted suddenly and the listener 
thought the effort was beyond the power of a con- 
demned man probably on the eve of execution. 

That night also he heard a new sound — a ship's bell 
striking the watches, close by. 

"Some of them are to be transported, and that boat is 
here to take them off," flashed through his mind. 

At dawn he turned in his blanket, wakened by the 
noise of renewed hammering. From his window he 
could see many troops massing in Pennsylvania Avenue, 
and amid them, riding alone, the Catholic priest — 
Father Walter, the intrepid soldier of Christ (who, be- 
cause of his belief in the innocence of one cf the con- 
demned, was forbidden to go with her to the scaffold) 
— coming to shrive departing souls. 

The officer detailed as usual to watch him at his 
breakfast, generally so genial, to-day avoided meeting 
the prisoner's eye, as did the soldier always holding a 
musket before his door. He asked no questions, ate 
his food, and sat afterward for hours without stirring 
from his chair. 

Thenceforward, every sound in the prison came un- 
naturally distinct. On all sides he heard the incessant 
tramp of gathering soldiers. On the roof facing the 
arsenal he saw gazers assembled, and could not look 
at them. 

He heard cell doors opening below, and their oc- 
cupants led out into the corridor; heard the sobbing 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 235 

of anguished women whose feet kept hurried pace a 
Httle while with the others, then turned back heavily. 

And lastly a hush, an awful calm, while the lives of a 
woman and three men were taken from them upon the 
scaffold. 

At his usual hour that evening the guards came to 
lead him out for exercise. Stepping from the prison 
door upon the pavement of the courtyard, he saw the 
scaffold looming black, exactly across a path he had 
made in the weedy grass, called by the soldiers "Har- 
rison's beat." And there, lying across the path, were 
four new made graves . . . "like beads upon a string," 
he said, over and over to himself, "like beads upon a 
string." 

The guards and bystanders watching curiously for 
evidence of his emotion were not gratified. Giving no 
sign, he began making for himself a new path parallel 
with the former one. 

That night he heard the sound of a faint, tremulous, 
dejected whistle coming up the ventilating tube, and 
actually laughed aloud, so glad he was to think the poor 
devil had not been hanged. When the ship's bells 
ceased to strike he was sure it had carried his whistHng 
friend away! 

AH these things were told to and written down by me, 
a short time before my husband's death in 1904 — calmly, 
without resentment or animus of any kind. He also 

said that Major , a Dane from Alichigan,who shortly 

after this transferred him to Fort Delaware, told him 
during the journey that he had been in personal charge 
of Mrs. Surratt in prison, had put the black cap over 
her head and the rope around her neck, launching her 
into eternity. He said Mrs. Surratt had nothing to do 
with the plot to kill Lincoln — that she was party to a 



236 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

scheme to capture him only, and that she died an in- 
nocent woman. (See General Butler's charge to Judge 
Bingham in the House of Representatives that he had 
hanged an innocent woman!) 

Major also told Mr. Harrison that before sentence 

of death was passed upon Mrs. Surra tt her daughter had 
tried continually, but in vain, to gain access to her cell. 
After she was condemned the girl was allowed to meet 

her mother. Major was present at the interview 

and said he never saw such an exhibition of character. 
As the girl came into the cell she could not stand but 
fell upon the floor, creeping over it, weeping bitterly, till 
she reached her mother's feet and kissed them, with a 
thousand loving, imploring words of tenderness. The 
mother remaining cold as a stone, his heart filled with 
wrath against her hardness to her child, but, when Miss 
Surratt finally went out of the cell, the woman broke 
down in such an awful passion of tears as he prayed he 
might never see again, melting him utterly into sym- 
pathy with her. 

Burton Harrison was personally on good terms with 
his jailers. When Major — — was conducting him, 
with two guards, to Fort Delaware, they were halted 
in the station at Philadelphia because of the failure of a 
carriage expected to take them to the boat wharf. In 
some perplexity the major said he would go himself 
and look for it. "And in the meantime, colonel," he 
added seriously, "will you have an eye upon these fel- 
lows of mine, and see that they don't leave you V 

With General Hartranft also, the provost marshal 
who had locked him in the black cell at the arsenal and 
came every day with the surgeon to see if the prisoner 
kept his health and sanity, Mr. Harrison had kind re- 
lations. 



RECOLLFXTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 237 

In after yeais, when as counsel for the Union Tele- 
graph Company, my husband went to conduct some 
business for them at Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, he found 
the official he had to consult professionally was none 
other than his former jailer. When Mr. Harrison came 
downstairs in the mornino- at the Lochiel Hotel and 
saw Hartranft waiting for him in the hall, he threw up 
his hands, exclaiming, "My God, general, you are not 
after me again ^" 

They shook hands and the general answered: "I 
tell you, Harrison; you haven't a better friend than I 
am in the world. Come to breakfast and, after we've 
finished business, wx'll spend the day together." 

Before ending this grim chapter, one of the horrible 
sequelae of the Civil War, I will say that after hearing 
these stories told again in Washington in 1904, I desired 
to drive with my husband to the scene of his old ordeal, 
where the present War College buildings were then 
going up on the site of the old prison of the arsenal. 

Sitting in a victoria, he directed the coachman as 
well as he could where to go, but became soon con- 
fused about localities in the altered aspect of the place. 
We pulled up, and I addressed the "boss" of a gang of 
workmen, asking if he could tell me where we were. 

"Why, ma'am, don't you know?" he answered. 
"This is the place where the scaffold stood on which 
Mrs. Surratt and the other conspirators were hanged." 

My husband made no comment, nor did I, and silently 
we drove homeward. 



CHAPTER XI 

IT was thought best for us ex-Confederates of both 
sexes to keep quietly out of pubHc observation while 
still the wave of feeling (enormously increased by 
the assassination of Lincoln) dashed high over our re- 
union with Northern friends. 

Our cousin, the Rev. Herbert Norris, rector of the 
Episcopal Church at Woodbury, New Jersey, who had 
lost a noble son in the Union service at Antietam, was 
good enough to ask that I should be sent to remain 
under his protection, and that of his wife, one of the 
Rawle family of Philadelphia, intensely in sympathy 
with the triumphing cause. 

They were more than kind to their poor little storm- 
tossed, rebel visitor, carrying in her young heart a world 
of painful experience together with certain fears and sad 
yearnings of which she could speak to nobody. It was 
as if an iron door had closed between her and the one 
who had gone out of her life so unsuspectingly that day 
of March on the eve of the Occupation ! Not a v^ord 
had come from him, and she only knew he was treated 
as a "dangerous" prisoner. 

The first thing Mrs. Norris wisely judged to be a 
healthy restorative for girlish spirits, was for me to 
overhaul my Confederate wardrobe and spend the check 
my mother had given me for new clothes. I went into 
Philadelphia escorted by my cousin Herbert, who took 
me to all the necessary shops, and stood by patiently till 
my ardor was appeased. I cannot now imagine any- 

238 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 239 

thing much ugHer than the gored ruffled skirts stretched 
over wide hoops, the short bolero jackets, and insignifi- 
cant Httle round hats shelved forward upon our brows. 
But when they came home and were compared with the 
threadbare, faded made-overs of my Richmond supply, 
I felt richer than a queen! These exhilarations did not 
last long, and many a night I sobbed for bygones and 
for friends who felt with me. The great city of Phil- 
adelphia as I saw it on our visits seemed so untouched 
by the war — casual people were so prosperous, so in- 
different, except to say bitter, biting things against the 
Southern cause. If I had been wiser I should have 
realized that the North, too, was riddled with painful 
remembrances and sorrows of the war. 

My next visit was one of some length to my father*s 
sister, at old Morrisania. She had lent a son to the 
Union army and, with her girls, was in mourning for 
President Lincoln when I arrived. My uncle, an origi- 
nal member of the Republican party (having been, like 
my father, an old-line Whig of ardent enthusiasm), was 
strongly opposed to the Southern idea of secession, and 
for the Confederacy and its leaders had no tolerance or 
consideration. While a man of large generosities and 
kind impulse, he was violent in invective against the 
rebels and all their works. At table and elsewhere it 
was the constant effort of the family, who had received 
me with open arms and cemented a friendship lasting 
all our lives, to restrain him from jocular remarks of 
triumph over the conquered South that swelled my heart 
to bursting, unable as I was to retort or give expression 
to my sufferings. One day at luncheon, when he quoted 
the verse about "hanging Jeff Davis to a sour apple 
tree," 1 for a while "saw red," and came very near leav- 
ing the house on foot and taking refuge I knew not 



240 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

where. Afterward, on learning from his wife how he 
had pained me, he was as sorry as I could have wished. 
I could not understand why some of their country neigh- 
bors, calling at Morrisania, looked at me curiously as at 
a brand snatched from the burning. This dear house 
was to become a second home to me, I to assume the 
position of elder daughter to my aunt who had been my 
father's favorite sister, and in the course of time I was 
to go out from under its hospitable portal as a bride. 

The ease and luxury of my surroundings, in startling 
contrast to the life so recently led in Richmond, would 
have been better appreciated had I known what was be- 
falling my prisoner at Fort Delaware. My girl cousins, 
full of sympathy in the case, had already become warm 
advocates of the unseen private secretary of the late 
Confederate President. There was a universal thrill 
of satisfaction in the family when, at last, one day in 
August, I received from him a long full letter. 

The way in which it came to me was never revealed 
until by a letter written in 1876 by that preux chevalier^ 
Colonel Henry Kyd Douglas, of Hagerstown, Maryland, 
after reading a Virginian paper I had published in 
Scribners Magazine. This letter tells, better than I can, 
the conditions under which my prisoner was passing 
his days. 

"In August, 1865, I was a prisoner in Fort Delaware, 
sent there by the sentence of a military commission. 
My imprisonment was not a harsh one, and what with 
the courtesy of the commanding officer, and free access 
to a well-filled library and the liberty of the island, my 
time passed easily if not rapidly. 

"But up in a keep among the battlements, strictly 
guarded and confined, with no privileges and no com- 
panionship of men and books, in solitary imprisonment, 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 241 

Colonel Harrison passed a longer servitude, wearily and 
impatiently. He was suffering vicariously for the al- 
leged treason of his chief. Morning and evening he took 
his unsatisfactory exercise along the battlements. We 
were forbidden to speak to, or recognize each other, and 
yet there was no prison rule which could prevent the 
unspoken salute of the raised hat, although with averted 
faces. Even the keepers and jailers of that fort, used 
as they had become to many senseless tyrannies during 
the war, were disgusted with the strict and hard impris- 
onment of Colonel Harrison, and the men on duty freely 
expressed their opinion of it. The day before I was 
released, a stalwart, open-faced, coatless soldier came 
into my room. After telling me that he cooked for and 
waited on Colonel Harrison, he began to deplore the 
stringency of his confinement, especially the order that 
forbade him to write to, or receive letters from, his fam- 
ily and friends; and most especially, with hot wrath and 
an oath, did he think it was a shame the prisoner 
couldn't even write to the young lady he was in love with! 
(How he obtained this information I do not know.) He 
then said that 'one way or another' Colonel Harrison 
had got hold of pen and ink and paper, and had written 
a number of letters he wanted to send out to his family; 
would I take charge of them ? A flash of suspicion on 
my part was dispelled by a look into his honest face. 
. . . The next day he strolled again into my quarters 
and after expressing his satisfaction at my release, and 
his regret that Colonel Harrison was not freed, wandered 
about the room a bit, then said good-by and walked 
out. Upon taking down my coat which hung against 
the wall, I found therein a solid pack of letters. That 
day General Schoeff took me to Wilmington in his boat; 
that evening the letters were delivered to Mrs. Cary 



242 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

in Baltimore. I think the fullest letter there was ad- 
dressed to — whom ? She must have received and evi- 
dently appreciated it. Does she remember it.?" 

Other letters followed. A vegetable seller became the 
messenger of Cupid, and carried more than one out of 
the fort in hollowed carrots and cucumbers. We, in re- 
turn, contrived to get letters back addressed to a certain 
"Tony Hardiman," care of a certain somebody else, 
at a certain post-office, which shall be forever nameless. 
We knew, now, that things had otherwise improved for 
the prisoner, that books from the post library heaped his 
table, and a friendship had sprung up between himself 
and the brave commandant of the fort, ending in walks 
on the island and visits to the general's home. 

These things inspired in me hope that a pleasure 
even greater might be given to the captive. With my 
mother, I returned in the autumn to Woodbury, New 
Jersey, where, with the aid of my young cousin, Dr. 
Herbert Norris, we three made an attack in person upon 
the fort. 

Our ways of getting there were devious and thorny. 
From a village on the opposite shore of the Delaware 
River, we sailed in a leaky fishing boat across a swelling, 
roughening tide. Arrived at the moated fortress on the 
bank, we sent in our cards by a soldier to the com- 
mandant. To our delight, no question was made about 
receiving us and, crossing a bridge to enter gloomy cor- 
ridors, we were soon in the presence of the redoubted 
chief. Had I divined that the general's kind heart was 
already enlisted for the prisoner, not only through his 
own pleasure in his society, but because of his family's 
warm liking and championship — had I supposed that 
in after years these dear people were to name a son 
'Burton Harrison," and to bid their other sons try to 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 243 

model themselves upon one whom they conceived to be 
"a perfect gentleman" — then I should not have been so 
faint-hearted. 

The general, maintaining a severe official aspect, 
looked us over, and enquired of Mrs. Cary whether we 
were perchance the mother and sister of Colonel Har- 
rison. 

**No," said my mother; "only friends." 

"I understand!" said the general, hemming and 
hawing greatly. A moment more and he had taken the 
parcel my mother handed to him — a miniature of my- 
self painted by Mrs. Thompson in New York, to re- 
place the one burnt up in the soldier's camp-fire in the 
Georgia wilderness — and the open letter sent with it, 
and despatched them by an orderly to the prisoner. 

And then, a sudden, even kinder, impulse overcoming 
him, he asked my mother if she could trust him to show 
me the interior of the fortress. He led, I followed, to a 
door opening on the inner court, where, bidden to look 
up toward the battlements, I saw my prisoner, standing 
indeed between bayonets in a casemate, but alive and 
well, waving his hat Hke a school-boy, and uttering a 
great irrepressible shout of joy! 

These are the things that remain green in memory 
when the landscape of life is elsewhere dry and sere! 
But for the courage and devotion of my dear mother and 
my cousin, in accompanying me on what seemed a for- 
lorn hope, we should never have won the day! 

The next winter we had a house in Washington, prin- 
cipally for the purpose of winning the prisoner's release. 
Through the tireless efforts with President Johnson of 
our dear old friend, Hon. Francis Preston Blair, this 
was finally accomplished. On the i6th of January, 
1866, Burton Harrison was freed from Fort Delaware, 



244 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

coming at once to visit us in Washington, on his way 
to rejoin his mother and sister in the South. Having 
spent the latter months of his imprisonment in studying 
law, through the aid of books furnished him by his old 
friends and Yale chums, Eugene Schuyler and S. D. 
Page, of Philadelphia, he, after journeys to Canada and 
to Europe, was admitted to the New York bar. By 
advice of Mr. Charles O'Conor, his first friend and ad- 
visor, then the leading lawyer of New York, he entered 
the law office of ex-Judge Fullerton, and shortly after 
began practice for himself, which continued during 
many years of busy and successful experience. 

In October, 1866, my mother and I sailed in the ship 
Arago for Havre, the passenger list made up of many 
New Yorkers known to each other, including the family 
of the new American minister to the Court of Napoleon 
III, General Dix. Other people we knew on board 
were Mr. Martin Zborowski, of New York — whose wife 
had been a Morris — with his sons, John, or "Laddie," 
and Elliot, and his young daughter Anna, now the 
Countess de Montsaulnin, of Paris. A young Southern 
widow, Mrs. Hewitt, formerly Miss Belle Key, of Miss- 
issippi (sister-in-law of Mrs. Walker Fearn), was taking 
a little blonde daughter, Marie Hewitt, subsequently 
the handsome Mme. Wilkinson, of Paris, to be put at 
Mme. Grenfell's school in Paris. It was hardly a sur- 
prise to us when some months later we were bidden 
to the marriage of Mr. Zborowski with Mrs. Hewitt. 
Afterward we saw much of their conjoined families 
abroad and in Westchester County where Mr. Zborowski 
had a charming home. Several young couples on their 
bridal tours (who have strangely manno;ed to become 
old couples by now) bore names familiar to New York 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 245 

society. Everybody on board was nice to us recent 
enemies of the republic, and we contracted more than 
one friendship of an enduring nature. 

As our winter in Paris was avowedly for the purpose 
of giving my education the "finishing" touches sadly 
omitted in war experience, I was forthwith started in 
lessons of various kinds, including a training of the voice 
by M. Archaimbaud, of the Paris Conservatoire. To 
meet exigencies of foreign opinion, I was transformed 
back into the conventional jeune fille, accompanied 
everywhere by my mother. I often wondered what my 
testy little mditre de chant would think if I told him I had 
sung war songs to marching troops, or played accom- 
paniments for a chorus of soldiers surrounding me at the 
piano .'' I believe he would have fainted, then and there! 

Archaimbaud took interest in my voice and inspired 
me with delight in his methods. By and by we removed 
from the Hotel de Lille et d'Albion to a quaintly attract- 
ive domicile where some New Orleans Creole friends, 
had advised my mother to go for the betterment of my 
French accent. This was "La Ville au Bois," a villa 
boarding and apartment house, at the Porte Maillot in 
Neuilly, as pretty a place as could be, with ivy-grown 
buildings surrounding a paved courtyard, where in fine 
weather the tables for meals were set out of doors under 
the shade of great old trees. A high brick wall, over- 
hung with creepers, divided us from the Bois de Bou- 
logne. There, in a small but daintily furnished rez de 
chausseey consisting of two bedrooms and a sitting-room, 
the latter upholstered in a warm crimson moreen stuff, 
opening upon a wee garden of our own, we spent the 
winter. We grew so attached to our French home that 
when, during the Franco-Prussian war, we heard it had 
been destroyed by shot and shell — the second abode 



246 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

of mine laid low through war's necessities — we were 
genuinely grieved. 

Until then, I had not believed there were so many 
bright-eyed, smiling, chattering old people in the world 
as among our comrades at Ville au Bois! The mystery 
was explained when on Sundays, younger men and 
women, with children carrying bouquets, came rever- 
ently to call upon their seniors, most often leading them 
off in their best caps and redingotes, to dine eji ville with 
their offspring. The Ville au Bois, generally, was dying 
to understand about "ces dames de I'Amerique du 
Sud," who had taken the rez de chaussce apartment. 
Upon my mother, who had a beautiful clear olive com- 
plexion with large dark eyes, they looked with some 
comprehension, but continued to ask her if Mademoi- 
selle were not remarkably fair for a denizen of her 
country. 

Old Mme. Letellier, Alexandre Dumas's sister, who 
had an apartment all rosy chintz and growing plants, 
showed me a lock of their "sainted father's" hair (we 
called it wool in our part of the world), asking me if that 
was not like the hair of our people, generally. She 
pointed with pride to the deep tinting of blood under- 
neath her finger nails, and said: "I, too, am of your 
race, mademoiselle." To all of them, to be of the 
South meant to be off color in complexion! 

She was a dear little old person, who lent me books, 
gave me one of the great Alexandre's MS. and petted 
me extravagantly. She adored her nephew, Dumas fils, 
whose "Les Idees de Mme. Aubray" had just made its 
success at the Gymnase Theatre, and showed me the 
photograph of her famous brother sitting with Adah 
Isaacs Menken on his knee, saying, indulgently, "He 
was always an imprudent boy, ce hon gros Alexandre.*' 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 247 

One old lady had on her wall a picture, swathed 
in crape, of her son, in French soldier's uniform, 
who had been shot following Maximilian in Mexico. 
Underneath it was a vase that always held fresh 
flowers. 

We heard a glorious midnight mass at Christmas at 
the Madeleine, with a baritone from the opera singing 
Adolphe Adam's "Noel." Then came the joyous New 
Year's day, and on Twelfth Night they had a regular 
bourgeois "Diner des Rois" at our establishment, to 
which we were formally invited. A flower bed, over 
which butterflies and humming-birds quivered, seemed 
the array of caps for this occasion; and even the untidy, 
snuff"-taking old gentleman who distracted me by making 
queer noises in his throat, was shaved and brushed, 
wearing a white waistcoat and new skull cap with the 
inevitable red button of the Legion d'Honneur on his 
breast. He ultimately won the bean constituting him 
king of the revels, our landlady's baby granddaughter, 
a charming imp of five, getting the other bean that made 
her queen. Hand-in-hand, their majesties circulated 
around the tables, clinking glasses with every one, and — 
to my horror, as I saw them coming nearer to "ces 
dames" — kissing as they went! Upon my hand, luckily, 
the king, after a moment's hesitation, bestowed a moist 
salute, but my poor mother received hers upon her brow. 
I was glad to compromise by giving little Marie a hearty 
hug and kiss. 

From La Ville au Bois we usually walked to the 
Barriere de I'Etoile, then took a cab or bus, to view the 
sights of Paris. The Sainte Chapelle, Musee de Cluny, 
and Napoleon's tomb at the Invalides were my favor- 
ites, but eagerly we took it all in. Soon visitors began 
to appear, old friends from the Confederacy, and some 



248 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

new friends made at the North and on shipboard. Our 
little red salon, with its *'feu d'enfer,'* as Jean, our at- 
tendant, called our generous fire, opened to some inter- 
esting people. Prince Camille de Polignac and M. de 
St. Martin were very kind in coming, also dear old 
Mr. Francis Corbin, whose family were hereditary 
friends of the Fairfaxes. 

The ancestor of the Corbins had settled in Virginia 
about 1650, his son, Gawin Corbin, becoming president 
of the Council of Virginia. In 1754, George Washing- 
ton wrote making application to Mr. Corbin to use his 
influence in the council to procure for him a commission 
as lieutenant-colonel, which Mr. Corbin answered in 
the following brief phrase: 

"Dear George: 

"I enclose you your commission, God prosper you 
with it. 

"Your friend, 

"Richard Corbin." 

My mother's great-uncle, it was, who took the son of 
this gentleman, then a boy, in one of the Fairfax ships 
from Virginia to England, where the youngster was put 
to school. 

Mr. Francis Corbin invited us to dinner in the old 
Rohan hotel in the rue de Grenelle where he had long 
resided, and we met an agreeable company, French and 
English, of Southern sympathizers, of whom I remember 
only Mr. Moncure Robinson, of Philadelphia, a con- 
nection of our family. 

Once, handsome General Breckinridge called, with 
Colonel Dudley Mann, late Confederate States com- 
missioner to France, who won our hearts by asking if 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 249 

we were "related to the gallant little Midshipman Gary, 
who made so many friends when Captain Pegram ran 
the Nashville into Southampton." From my Southern 
album I take an interesting letter from Colonel Dudley 
Mann to President Davis, which has never before been 
published. 

"Brussels, Z)<?r. 17, 1864. 

*' Private. 
"My Dear Mr. President. 

"The Secretary of State will doubtless communicate 
to you the suggestion which I made yesterday the sub- 
ject of a dispatch to him. 

"I confidently believe that I can render singularly 
valuable services to our cause if it shall be agreeable to 
you to embrace the Germanic Confederation and Hol- 
land, in my present mission, in the manner indicated 
to Mr. Benjamin. 

" From the Emperor of the French, we never had nor 
have now, anything favorable to expect. His Imperial 
Majesty is deaf to international justice and blind to its 
usages when he conceives that Mexico may possibly be 
involved in danger. It is quite certain, as I had long 
ago supposed, that there is a cordial understanding be- 
tween the Cabinets of the Tuileries and Washington 
in relation to Maximilian. I now understand, upon 
good authority, that the latter is to consider the Monroe 
Doctrine as utterly obsolete, and that for this conces- 
sion the former will decline for an indefinite period to 
establish diplomatic relations with us. This is a mon- 
strous wrong, but one for which unfortunately we have 
no redress. The hour of retribution, however, may 
arrive sooner or later. 

"Our friends everywhere enjoy your recent speeches 
and your message. They like your confident and ear- 



250 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

nest language. Our enemies, too, know that you speak 
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

**I am hopeful that we have seen the darkest days of 
our struggle. I indulge the belief that we shall experi- 
ence no more severe disasters. I have never feared 
but that our independence was established, durably, 
the day that it was declared. 

"With cordial good wishes for your family, I pray you 
to believe me, 

"Yours devotedly, 

"A. Dudley Mann. 
•'His Excellency Jefferson Davis, 

^^President C. S. A., Richmondy Virginia.^* 

The Preston girls came from Rue Lord Byron; Mrs. 
Myers, with her rosy young face, bright eyes, and dark 
hair powdered with white, and the Amaron Ledoux's, 
originally from New Orleans, long resident in Paris, 
aunt and cousins of Burton Harrison. It was hard to 
tell which was lovelier in this family — the mother, re- 
nowned since her youth for good looks and gracious 
manners; Alice, who died young; Anina, now the 
Baronne Brin, of Chateau Beausoliel; or Gabrielle, the 
present Marquise de Valori. 

Ex-Senator and Mrs. Gwin, of California, maintained 
much of their accustomed elegance in a large apartment 
where they gave many parties; Dr. and Mrs. Marion 
Sims, with their handsome daughters, Mrs. Pratt (who 
appeared at a fancy ball, as an American Indian prin- 
cess, with great eclat), Carrie, and Florence; and the 
Slidells, one of whom went to the same ball as "Rain" 
under a wonderful umbrella dripping with a shower of 
silver drops, were Southerners much admired in the 
society of the day. Mr. and Mrs. John Bigelow, to be 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 251 

our good friends and neighbors in Gramercy Park in 
later years, were just leaving Paris to yield their place 
to General and Mrs. Dix when we arrived. Mr. Parke 
Godwin, our future neighbor at Bar Harbor, made the 
speech of the evening at the farewell banquet given to 
Mr. Bigelow at the Grand Hotel in December. 

Among the New York set two noted young beauties 
were the Beckwith sisters — a miracle of cream and rose 
complexions and charming costumes. "Baby" Beck- 
with was afterward Lady Leigh, of England, her sister 
becoming Mrs. Thorne. One saw a good deal of the 
pretty faces of that period, since the Empress had set 
the fashion of bonnets no bigger than a postage stamp. 
The newspapers complained that this mode, requiring 
a great deal more hair than the other, would cost hus- 
bands and fathers accordingly, since hair fetched a much 
higher market price than did silk and artificial flowers. 

We went to *Te skating," on a pond in the Bois de 
Boulogne, where there were coronetted carriages, pow- 
dered and plushed footmen, and Tom Thumb grooms 
waiting on all the grand people of the Tuileries society. 
There I had my first view of the Empress Eugenie, skat- 
ing slowly, holding on to a baton supported between two 
gentlemen of her court. She wore a short costume of 
sapphire blue velvet, trimmed with grebe, with a toque 
of the same plumage. I lost my heart to her instantly, 
such beauty, grace, distinction were hers, and her smile 
adorable. 

Now for some extracts from my diary. 

"We hear of a negro actor named Ira Aldridge, who 
has made his appearance in "Othello" at Versailles, 
after a grand dinner given to him by theatre people and 
literati, including Dumas pere. He is said to play the 
part superbly, wearing a costume covered with jewels." 



252 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

"There was a sale of autographs last week, when 
George Sand's brought six francs; Seward's, ten francs; 
Jefferson Davis's, fifteen francs; and Verdi's, three 
francs, fifty centimes. 

"Heard Adelina Patti in 'Don Pasquale' at Les 
Italiens. She doesn't look a day older than when I saw 
her, in Washington before the war, as 'Rosina' in the 
'Barbiere,' a little tripping thing of fifteen or sixteen. 
Now she is a great diva, making twenty-four thou- 
sand pounds in a season at the Italian Opera here. 
Crowds follow her carriage and wait around her hotel 
till she comes out on the balcony to throw them flowers. 
At Marseilles she was jostled until her bonnet fell off 
and was torn to pieces for souvenirs. Certainly she 
sings like the lark at Heaven's gate, 

"Saw a ballet called *La Source,' which fairly daz- 
zled my eyes — my first grand 'spectacle.' I wondered 
what they would say to it on Seminary Hill. I accused 
mamma of shutting her eyes during part of the capering. 
I also rallied her for saying we had accomplished so 
much sight-seeing together she did not believe there 
was a hole or corner of Paris we had left undone! We 
really do have the most delightful and sympathetic walks 
and explorings. She is a marvel in remembering his- 
tory, and is working at her French grammar like a 
school-girl. 

"Longstreet Branham called, a charming boy from 
Mississippi, a friend of Burton Harrison and L. Q. C. 
Lamar. We walked home from service in the Ave- 
nue Marboeuf with the Smith Bryces, our companions 
on the Arago. They have a pretty new apartment 
where they asked us to breakfast the other day: only 
the family present — Clemence and the two boys, Lloyd 
and Carroll. The major says he wishes his ladies 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 253 

would go more to the Louvre Gallery and less to the 
Louvre Magasin." 

"Saw that horrid, vulgar Teresa, the chanteuse of 
music halls, of whom the fashionable world makes so 
much. After one of her appearances in a salon of the 
Faubourg St. Germain, she said quite naively: 'The 
songs I sing here wouldn't be tolerated by the police in 
a music hall.' The Papal Nuncio and his secretary 
were invited to hear her at a very distinguished house 
and incontinently left the premises. Princess Metter- 
nich sent her own carriage to fetch her to one of her 
parties. As a commentary, Teresa's predecessor, Rigol- 
boche, who set Paris aflame a short time since, died 
recently and was buried in the fosse commune^ or uni- 
versal ditch where paupers are consigned. 

**Had pointed out to me in the Champs Elysees the 
Oh!-no-we-never-mention-her — Cora Pearl, with a lap- 
dog dyed to match her yellow hair. She is a common- 
looking thing! 

"Went to a ball at the Gwins — everything beauti- 
fully done. All the best-known ex-Confeds were pres- 
ent, with crowds of foreigners. Mme. Ledoux took 
me, and introduced many danseurs. Danced with 
Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and Mesopotamians, who 
presented themselves clicking their varnished heels 
together, and murmuring 'Est ce que j'aurai I'hon- 
neur, Mademoiselle.?' after which we circled without 
a word passing between us, till they brought me back 
to my chaperon. I could have told them I knew better 
fun than that. Alice and Anina looked radiant and were 
the greatest belles. A little slim Montenegrin prince of 
royal family, named 'Dieu-Donne Petrovitch,' asked 
me to dance twice, and actually said the room was 
hot. The cotillon lasted till half-past three. I danced 



254 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

it with the Count de Marnas. I wore blue silk under 
an embroidered white musHn, made by Lucie De- 
charme. It was cut in Empire fashion with the waist up 
under the arms and a big blue sash, with a wreath of 
forget-me-nots in the hair — 'toilette tout a fait jeune 
fille, et tres comme il faut,' Lucie said, when she brought 
it home in a cab. 

** To-day, the coldest of the winter, mamma and I 
walked across the Bois de Boulogne in by-ways, under 
pines and cedars fringed with snow, in a crisp delicious 
atmosphere, coming out at the cascade where the ivy 
on the rocks glittered with icicles. Then, on past Long- 
champs, to Suresnes, where we hired a votture to bring 
us home. How bitter chill it was! All Europe is 
grumbling at the cold. Birds and beasts everywhere 
creeping from their retreats in search of food. 

"Went to the opera to hear Marie Battu sing in 
'Alceste.' Archaimbaud insists that I must hear good 
music constantly — a very nice prescription. 

** To-day, through the Ledoux, who know him very 
well, came from the Due de Bassano, the Emperor's 
Chamberlain, two huge rose-colored cards, admitting 
us to the Midday Mass at the Tuileries Chapel, at which 
their Majesties will be present. I had thought I had a 
dreadful cold, but it got better directly after that. Of 
course the trouble with my seeing court functions is that 
my dearest angel of a mother won't hear of my receiv- 
ing any favors from the American Minister, although 
the Dixs have been so good in offering things. She, 
who is gentleness itself, actually said with a flushed face 
and flashing eyes, that I should never go inside the 
Tuileries if it depended on receiving favors from the 
representative of 'that Government!' ' Besides, only a 
year ago, he gave the order to shoot anybody who wanted 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 255 

to pull down the Stars and Stripes, and you know, my 
child, we did/ 

"We were introduced into the Chapel by liveried 
functionaries after waiting in an anteroom till the doors 
were opened. To-day is the Feast of Candles, or Puri- 
fication of the Virgin Mary, and the pictures and fres- 
coes and gilding were lit up by a blaze of wax lights, 
each priest and acolyte also holding one. At twelve, 
there was a cry in the gallery 'L'Empereur,' re- 
peated by a functionary upon the altar steps. Then 
the priests came in, and into the tribune draped with 
crimson velvet studded with golden bees, stepped their 
Majesties. The Empress sat on the Emperor's left, 
the Prince Imperial, a nice, manly boy, on his right. 
She looked like some old ivory carving of a saint. She 
wore a casaque and toque of marron velvet, with a 
wreath of black and gold leaves low on her lovely fluffy 
hair. She seemed pensive, even distressed, her lids 
drooping, her face resting upon one long slender well- 
gloved hand. I looked at the Emperor with close at- 
tention, as at one whom some consider the master-mind 
of Europe in these days. His face was grayish in tint, 
lined with deep marks, his eyes had puffy places under 
them. While at prayer, he seemed suddenly to break 
down into an old unhappy man, goaded by unpleasant 
thoughts, probably of Mexico and his lamentable fiasco 
there. But then, how can any French Monarch feel 
settled and happy, living in that great marble palace 
looking out on the fateful Place de la Concorde .? 

"While the Emperor and Empress received the sacra- 
ment alone, I looked, first at an exquisite painting of an 
Annunciation" (destroyed in the Commune) "then back 
at the pale sad face of the Empress. There was music 
of harp and organ with voices chiming in pianissimo 



256 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

"We walked home through the Tuileries Garden, 
where for a penny I bought of a most poHte old woman, 
a bunch of violets that fills the room with perfume as I 
write. No, I shouldn't like to be peerless Eugenie in 
the Palace of the Tuileries! 

"We were asked to a soiree to be given by an English 
lady in the Avenue de I'lmperatrice. Her cards read: 
*Tea at eight. Electricity at nine. Music at ten.' 

"We got there for the music, furnished mostly by the 
guests. Mrs. Blanchard Jerrold, daughter of Mark 
Lemon of Punchy helped to make it. Later on, to my 
dismay, our hostess descended upon me. She was a 
large formidable lady like a rocking horse in expression. 
Somebody had fallen out, and she insisted I should sing 
in the garden duet from 'Faust'; with whom but Gar- 
varni, one of the tenors I had heard at the Italian opera .? 
I was cold with fear, but managed to get through my 
part, my Faust helping enormously with his unerring 
skill and ease. Archaimbaud was amazed, but secretly 
pleased when I told him of this next day at my lesson, 
and that I had also sung 'Cours mon aiguille,' from the 
*Noces de Jeannette,' at which he had kept me working 
away till I was sick of it. My clever cross little teacher 
then condescended to say I had rather a nice voice, 
with some musical feeling, and if I sang 'exercises' and 
'vocalises' for a thousand years or so I might do fairly 
well. 

"Heard 'Mignon' at the Opera Comique, with Galli 
Marie and Victor Capoul, both exquisite. Then, the 
treat of all treats, Christine Nilsson as the 'Queen of 
Night' in Mozart's 'Magic Flute' her 'vocalises' hke 
a rain of jewels." I heard la diva afterward in New 
York in all her roles, and regretted to miss her appear- 
ance in Thomas's "Hamlet," at the Theatre Lyrique, 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 257 

after I left Paris, when the audiences simply went mad 
over her. Her farewell in that opera in the spring of 
1868 is said to have been the most extraordinary scene 
of enthusiasm; flowers covering the stage, and thunders 
of applause that would not die away. I met her fre- 
quently at the houses of friends in New York, and find 
among my autographs a gracious little note from her 
accepting an invitation to our home. I saw her, as the 
Countess Miranda, at Monte Carlo, a few years ago, a 
thin net veil over her face, sitting at the tables absorb- 
ingly intent upon her game. All that beauty of com- 
plexion, the light of those wide-open eyes, that grace 
and virginal joyousness were gone. She was quite an- 
other person; a grievous disillusion! 

"Heard some delicious concerts by Pasdeloup's or- 
chestra at the Salle I'Athenee, Have been in turn to 
hear all the best artists of the day at the operas, also to 
the Theatre Fran^ais, and to the Chatelet, for spectacles. 
All the others are tabooed to a young girl. Went to the 
Cirque de I'lmperatrice, to see Leotard jump, or rather 
fly through the air." After we left Paris he fell once 

into the lap of our friend. Count de , and broke the 

poor count's leg, not his own. 

"On Feb. 27th, a card arrived for me for the ball 
at the Tuileries, sent through a Southern friend mar- 
ried into one of the old families of France, who off^ered 
to take me with her daughter. We went up the fifty 
steps of the grand staircase, on each end of which stood 
like a statue one of the Cent Gardes, the Emperor's 
body-guard, the tallest and handsomest men in the mili- 
tary service of France, wearing the classic helmet with a 
snowy horse's tail arched over its crest. I had to own 
to myself that nothing I had seen at the poor shabby 
White House *befo de wah' or in the Governor's house 



258 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

in Richmond, could come up to this! In the gorgeous 
Salle des Marechaux, with Strauss playing his best 
waltzes in the gallery, we saw their Majesties sitting on 
golden thrones under curtains studded with golden bees. 
Never since, have I seen the outward form of sovereignty 
so splendidly assumed. 

"The Empress wore white tulle over satin, the skirt 
bordered by a garland of soft white roses, the bodice 
a mass of scintillating gems, her hair linked with dia- 
mond clasps, around her waist her famous jewelled 
girdle. My friends pointed out to me all the distin- 
guished people of the hour — Prince Napoleon, his wife, 
Princess Clotilde, Princess Mathilde, Marquise de 
GalHfet, Duchesse Tascher de la Pagerie, the diplomats 
generally, etc. I was most interested in Princess Pau- 
line Metternich, who calls herself 'the monkey of the 
court,' because she dares anything for a moment's di- 
version, but is, nevertheless, grande dame to the finger 
tips. She has recently played three parts of an evening, 
at theatricals given at Compeigne — a vivandiere, a cab- 
man (in complete costume, argot and all!) and then the 
'Spirit of Song' in white tulle, the skirt decorated with 
music bars, the bodice one solid mass of diamonds. The 
wit and tact of this Austrian Embassadress are quoted 
everywhere. I stood near her at another ball where I 
could not but overhear her sparkling talk — equalled in 
glitter only by the high collar of emeralds and diamonds 
around her slim throat. 

" The State Ball at the Tuileries was such a terrible 
squash, as they say in England, our tulles and laces were 
simply carried away upon sword hilts. A handsome old 
officer, asked by a lady pushed upon him in the jam, 
to kindly take his finger out of her ear, said politely. 
'Mille excuses, Madame, but at present it is impos- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 259 

sible.' I had one dance only, with the 'God-given' 
Montenegrin prince, who was not to be resisted as he 
came to seek me in his stunning national costume, gleam- 
ing with color and gold lace; but my feet were fairly 
trodden out of shape. This Prince Petrovitch, with 
Sir Hubert Jerningham, the handsome young attache 
of the British Legation — whom, as a distinguished dip- 
lomat, author, and traveller, I was to know in years to 
come, when I had the pleasure to be his guest at his 
beautiful Longridge Towers near Berwick-on-Tweed ; 
on which estate are the ruins of Norham Castle, the 
scene of the opening canto of Scott's 'Marmion' — 
v.ere often invited by the Empress Eugenie to lead 
the cotillons at her private dances. 

" We did not wait to taste the imperial supper, but, 
letting ourselves be put into our wraps by the functiona- 
ries in black velvet with silver chains around their necks, 
got into our carriage and hurried away between huge 
bonfires built at intervals in the rue de Rivoli, to keep 
waiting coachmen and footmen warm, to a bal prive in 
the Boulevard Malesherbes, where I danced in a cotillon 
till 3 A. M." 

After that, we had more pomps and vanities, of which 
the foregoing will serve as a sample. But amid all this 
bedazzlement to ex-Confederate eyes, it is not to be sup- 
posed that our hearts swerved from continual remem- 
brance of the dear ones left behind, with whom we were 
in constant correspondence. Their joys and sorrov^^s, 
hopes and fears, were ours, and tears often flowed in 
thinking of them. My mother, indeed, carried the 
Confederacy written in her heart till death, as Queen 
Mary once bore Calais. 

My mother had by now settled down into a more 
tranquil state of mind concerning her son,who, like many 






26o RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

another young officer of the Confederate States navy 
after the collapse of our cause, had reheved the intol- 
erable uncertainty of the first days of reconstruction by 
shipping before the mast in the bark Clifton, sailing from 
Baltimore to Rio de Janeiro. This exploit, a greater 
ordeal to us than to him, embodied a voyage of fifty 
days to South America. Being a protege of the owner, 
he at first lived aft in the cabin, but resenting some 
chaff of the captain when in his cups, he took his tin 
pot and spoon and went forward into the forecastle with 
the men, who received him with open arms. 

"I was soon at home with the ship, and as active aloft 
as any, turning out to reef and furl and laying out on 
the weather top-sail yard-arm when the squall was roar- 
ing and the sea below us outside the narrow hull churned 
to froth and spoondrift. We were short-handed, and 
often and again did our watch get below from off the 
sloppy decks in nasty weather, and into the steaming 
forecastle, just in time enough to fall into tired slumber 
— when bang, bang, bang would come a handspike on 
the forecastle door, and hoarse voices cry, 'All hands 
reef topsails! 

"Out we rolled, struggling into wet sea boots and 
clinging oilskins, and tumbling half-awake out on the 
slanting deck, and so with the weather rigging and up 
that steep path against which the gale would flatten 
one; the same gale which was roaring aloft and making 
the lowered sail flat and struggle Hke a furious wild 
thing! 

"Aloft and quickly with the swarming crowd, and 
over the fullock shrouds, and away out on the yard-arm, 
standing on the swaying foot rope and holding fast with 
tooth and eyelid to the spar, from which the sail we 
wished to catch and reef, would flap and belly out in its 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 261 

imprisoning bunt and reef-lines. On the yard-arm, the 
swinging roll of the ship was quick and wide reaching, 
leaving one at moments poised as a bird in air over the 
black and tumbling sea, and under a blacker fiercer 
sky. No shout would reach us against the wind, but 
a whispered word went back plainly to leeward. Obey- 
ing a sign from the 2nd mate in the bunt, all hands 
reached out and grasped the struggling devilish sail, 
and with a pull together, which cracked one's back, and 
started finger-nails, a little fold was gathered in, and held 
under one's body, until another skin could be had, and 
also fastened, and the whole secured by reef points. 
Then * Lay down from aloft,' was the cry, and back we 
clambered, the watch stumbling into the forecastle to 
sleep out what remained of its precious time. The 
Clifton top-sails, I may add, were of the old-fashioned 
back-breaking sort, rigged with single top-sail yards. 
In early days, the most difficult seamanship was in reef- 
ing top-sails, and the supreme test of the able seaman 
was his manner of passing the w^eather ear-ring, a duty 
which required him to be first aloft and on the weather 
yard-arm, which he perched upon, a-straddle, with foot 
on Flemish horse, and back against the left, ready to 
make fast the ear-ring at the reef, provided the flatten- 
ing sail did not flap over his head and drag him from the 
yard, as happened now and then." 

I have copied this bit from my brother's diary, be- 
cause to me it has in it the whistle of angry sea- 
winds and the stern resistance of man to the elements. 
It will also give an idea of a phase of sailor's life now 
passed away, as well as mark the contrast between his 
experience as a young officer in early command, and 
that of a common seaman before the mast, in both doing 
his manly duty cheerily. 



262 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

The voyage threw him into contact in Rio with sun- 
dry other young ex-rebels Hke himself, experimenting 
for future service in the merchant marine, and also 
with a Harvard man at sea for a lark, on his wa)^ 
to India, who held out his hand to Clarence, observ- 
ing, "Hello! you, too, must be a gentleman!" They 
laughed, shook hands, and parted, never to meet 
again. 

On his safe return to New York, my brother, who had 
not abandoned his project of entering the merchant-ser- 
vice, shared his quarters in that city with his old navy 
shipmate, Jeff Howell, a brother of Mrs. Jefferson Davis, 
afterward lost at sea in the wreck of a merchant vessel 
under his own command. At the urgent entreaty of his 
family, my brother abandoned this idea, and after a 
time spent partly at hospitable Morrisania, partly in law 
studies in Charleston, South Carolina, varied by fox 
hunting with his friends Frank Trenholm and James 
Morris Morgan, finally settled down in the law offices 
of Harrison & Wesson in New York. 

Long after he was an established member of the bar, 
Mr. Cary avowed his weakness for spending spare time 
wandering on the docks of New York, studying the 
shipping, and filling his lungs with a whiff of salt air 
and his nostrils with the smell of tarred ropes. 

No, we were not yet thoroughly reconstructed, and 
when in the spring we saw a superb review in Paris, of 
troops gathered in honor of the royal and imperial vis- 
itors to the "Exposition Universelle," a poignant mem- 
ory got hold of me. I thought of all those heroes of our 
war I had seen defile into the shades of death, of their 
surviving leaders, scattered, suffering ignominy, exile, 
or galling poverty, and my tears changed into sobs; 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 263 

there was nothing for it but to give up and ask to be 
taken home. 

As a matter of course, we and all the other wandering 
children of the South we knew in Paris, were critically 
anxious for the release of Jefferson Davis from his two 
years of painful imprisonment in Fortress Monroe. 
His trial, long delayed, now coming on under the care 
of some of the most eminent counsel of the American 
bar, was ever in our thoughts. 

The story of that trial and Mr. Davis's release on 
bail was told to us in two letters from Burton Harri- 
son (here for the first time put into print), and lifted a 
weight from our lives. 

^'Richmond, Va., May 13, 1867. 

"To-morrow*s papers may inform the far-off world of 
Paris that our great chieftain has been finally liberated 
on bail. In a little while we are to go into the court- 
room where the last act of his long drama of imprison- 
ment is to be performed — we may yet be disappointed, 
and may be called upon to conduct Mr. Davis again to 
a dungeon ... we are very anxious of course — fever- 
ishly so — but there seems to be no reason to apprehend 
failure this time. 

" I left New York early Tuesday morning and have 
been constantly busy moving ever since I brought the 
documents here which have since been published to the 
world, and have set the newspaper quidnuncs scribbling 
ten thousand crude speculations. But my long training 
to reticence in diplomacy, has enabled me to keep our 
real devices concealed from the gossips. 

"Spent Wednesday and Thursday here plotting and 
making ready for the great day. On Friday I went 
down to the Fortress and there spent, with him, the last 



264 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

night of his sojourn in the bastile. It was the second 
anniversary of our capture. Next day we came up the 
river. General Burton was as courteous to his prisoner 
as he could be — subjected him to no restraint, brought 
no guards — and we travelled as amiably as a select party 
of gentlemen could. There were very few passengers 
on the boat, but it had become generally known that the 
chief was on board, and at every landing was assembled 
an enthusiastic little group to greet the President. It 
did my heart good to see the fervent zeal of the good peo- 
ple at Brandon. They came aboard and such kissing 
and embracing and tears as Belle Harrison, Mary Spear 
Nicholas and Mrs. George Harrison employed to mani- 
fest their devotion to the leader who was beaten, have 
never been seen out of dear old Virginia. 

"We were brought to the Spotswood Hotel and Mr. 
and Mrs. Davis occupy the same rooms they used in 1861, 
w^hen they first came to Richmond under such different 
circumstances. The Northern proprietor of the house 
has caught the zeal of the entire community and actu- 
ally turned his own family out of that apartment. There 
are no sentinels, no guards — no stranger would sup- 
pose the quiet gentleman who receives his visitors with 
such peaceful dignity is the State prisoner around 
whose dungeon so many battalions have been mar- 
shalled for two years, and whose trial for treason 
against a mighty government, to-day excites the in- 
terest of mankind. 

"Almost every one has called, bringing flowers and 
bright faces of welcome to him who has suffered vica- 
riously for the millions. Yesterday, after service, half 
the congregation from St. Paul's Church was here, and 
I confess I haven't seen so many pretty women together 
for years. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 265 

" A mighty army of counsel is here. O'Conor is tow- 
ering in his supremacy over all lesser personages and 
looked like a demi-god of antiquity, yesterday, when we 
gathered a few of us around Mr. Davis to explain the 
details of his arrangements. It was a scene so remark- 
able for the men who constituted the group and for the 
occasion of their meeting that I shall never forget it." 

"New York, May 18, 1867. 

"My last letter was written in Richmond on the morn- 
ing of the great crisis. The telegrams in the newspapers 
informed you of the result of our labors, and you will see 
accounts enough of the various scenes of the drama from 
newspaper correspondents. I enclose you one from the 
Baltimore Gazette, written by Wilkins Glenn— as good 
a story of what occurred as I have seen. The World 
will give you a report of the speeches made by O'Conor 
and the rest, which were very meager. 

"The fact was everything had been agreed upon be- 
forehand, between O'Conor and the Attorney General, 
and it was understood there should be no speeches of 
pretentious declamation. Each actor in the drama did 
his part soberly and with satisfactory precision. Al- 
though Underwood, the Judge, had received from the 
government an intimation of their desire that he should 
accept bail, we were not sure that he would not disap- 
point us with some assertion of the * independence of the 
judiciary.' Underwood is the bete noire of Richmond. 
The people regard him with unlimited fear and dislike. 
They say he has shown himself such an agent as has not 
sat on the bench to torment humanity, since the days of 
James's Chief Justice. They were terribly frightened 
by the step we took in securing Mr. Davis's removal 
from. Fortress Monroe to be within control of the 'Civil' 



266 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

authorities — thought it the greatest possible blunder — 
were certain that Underwood would avail himself of the 
opportunity to punish the whole Confederacy through 
their representative man, and looked for nothing better 
than a transfer of our chief from the quarters at the 
Fortress where the custodian was a gentleman and his 
surroundings were those of comfort, to the filthy dun- 
geons of the town jail! The women were in an agony 
of prayer — the men more anxious than at any moment 
since the evacuation of Richmond. 

" But it really seemed as if the deep feeling of the com- 
munity had possessed the United States officials. The 
desire to be polite and gracious manifested itself in ev- 
ery one of them. After we were all in the court-room 
awaiting the arrival of the judge and the prisoner, Gen- 
eral Burton came in dressed in full uniform and followed 
by Mr. Davis. The marshal conducted them to the 
prisoner's dock, coming immediately to me to invite me 
to sit by Mr. Davis, that he might feel he had a friend 
with him and lose the disagreeable consciousi.ess of the 
presence of constables and turnkeys. As I pushed my 
way through the crowd I thanked the marshal heartily, 
and sitting down beside the prisoner felt that I was en- 
throned with a king. 

*' In a very few moments, the courtesy was extended by 
asking us to remove from the seat of the accused to join 
Mr. O'Conor and Mr. Reed vv^ithin the bar. There 
I stood behind Mr. Davis during the whole of the pro- 
ceedings, and when it was all over, was the first to con- 
gratulate him. 

''Observation of this kindness on the part of the offi- 
cials had inspired in anxious friends more hope in the 
Judge — but there was still such a dread in everybody's 
eyes when Underwood was about to speak — such a per- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 267 

feet stillness in the halls as I shall rarely see again in a 
lawyer's life of anxiety in court-rooms. And when the 
oracle came — 'The case is undoubtedly bailable, and 
as the Government is not ready to proceed with the 
trial, and the prisoner is and for a long time has been 
ready and demanding trial — it seems eminently proper 
that bail should be allowed' — such joy and relief as came 
upon all faces ! 

''When it was done and 'the prisoner discharged,' 
Mr. Davis asked me to convey him as rapidly as possible 
from the court to his rooms at the Spotswood, and I did 
so in triumph. 

"Our carriage was beset with a crowd frantic with 
enthusiasm, cheering, calling down God's blessings, 
rushing forward to catch him by the hand and weeping 
manly tears of devotion to 'our President.' I shall never 
see such joy in a crowd again and some of the faces I saw 
thro' the tears in my own eyes will remain impressed 
on my memory forever. 

"Reaching the hotel, he took my arm through the 
crowd and up the stairway. The halls were full of 
friends waiting to congratulate him, but everybody held 
back with instinctive delicacy as he w^ent in to his wife. 

"In a moment I followed. Dr. Minnegerode, Miss 
Jenny Ritchie and Mr. George Davis were already there, 
helping Mrs. Davis to pass the time which we spent in 
the court-room. The door was locked and we knelt 
around a table, while the rector offered a prayer of 
thanksgiving; every one of us weeping irrepressibly, for 
God had delivered the captive at last, and with him we 
were all liberated! 

"After a while the doors were opened, and I ran away 
from the multitude of men and women who laughed and 
cried by turns. And now, the whole town rejoiced. 



268 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

The animosity of war was put aside, and every house- 
hold vied with its neighbor in extending hospitahties 
to Genl. Burton and the other U. S. officials who 
seemed to find almost as much happiness in the result 
as we did. They were breakfasted, dined and toasted, 
till they fully realized what Virginian hospitality can be. 

"We determined to take the chief as quickly as possi- 
ble away from these scenes of explosive excitement, and 
went aboard ship that evening, coming to New York by 
sea to avoid the multitudes on land. He will go in a few 
days to visit his children in Canada. Beyond that his 
plans are not made. 

"At the New York Hotel he has been beset by con- 
gratulating friends, and had become so nervous and 
weakened by continued excitement that last night I took 
bodily possession of him, put him into a carriage and 
drove him out to Mr. O'Conor's to have a restful sleep 
in the country and a day or two of quiet. 

"He remonstrated, but in vain. He has been so long 
accustomed to submit to his keepers that at last he 
ceased to resist and I conveyed him away forcibly. 

"Mrs. Davis and Miss Howell went to see Ristori — 
her last night in New York. I suppose they will be in 
town for a day or two longer, and I shall continue to be 
in diligent attendance. But the decree which admitted 
Mr. Davis to bail, liberated me also — and from that 
moment I was released from all bonds — save one. 

"The past is now the past — all is now in the future." 

No one could read this loyal outpouring of a young 
man's enthusiasm for a fallen chief with any doubt tuat 
his friendship and hearty desire to serve Mr. Davis con- 
tinued always. Many letters in my possession attest 
the warmth of their mutual regard; but the course of 



RECOLLFXTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 269 

their lives, diverging at this point, never ran in parallel 
lines again. When Mrs. Davis, after her widowhood, 
lost her gifted daughter Winnie, and was to carry the 
body almost in state, for interment in Richmond, she 
sent for my husband to accompany her, and leaned upon 
him like a son. 

Our days in Paris, when we returned to the Hotel 
France et Choiseul in the autumn for shopping, were 
nearly over. 

I have recorded the preceding glimpses of the French 
capital in the later days of imperial regime because it 
has never been, in outward show, so splendid since the 
reign of Napoleon III and his beautiful consort. 

The exposition brought into its streets thousands of 
visitors and many of the sovereigns of Europe, or their 
representatives. The great show itself was (in com- 
parison with its successors everywhere) rather meagre 
and disappointing. Save for the exhibits of France and 
Austria there was nothing resplendent to be seen. It 
was, indeed, with a long sigh of relief of mind and body 
that we Vk^ent away from the modern Babylon, in June, 
into beautiful rural Switzerland 

Except that we made the ascent of the Grand St. 
Bernard Pass with a party of English friends, a little too 
early in the season to be safe, and were taken in, al- 
most exhausted, by the Clavendier and monks at the 
hospice, there was nothing of moment to record. My 
cousin, Anne Cary Morris, came out to join us, also the 
James Howard McHenrys, of Baltimore, so that our 
little group of kinsfolk made a happy oasis in that sum- 
mer of beautiful wandering. 

In the autumn we received an invitation from Charles 
Wykeham Martin, Esq., M.P. to Kent, to make him a 
visit at Leeds Castle, near Maidstone, before returning 



270 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 



to America. It was the first time either of us had been 
in England, and I had the surprise of hearing my good 
mother say to herself, devoutly, as we landed: "Thank 
God, I have at last set foot upon the soil of home!" 
The blood of her tory ancestors had evidently not been 
chilled in her veins by the lapse of a century of republi- 
canism, or, perhaps, as she could no longer claim Vir- 
ginia, she would have naught else but England! She 
was further made happy by cordial welcome in one 
of the loveliest old castles in England, overflowing 
with potraits, busts, books, and relics of her family. My 
bedroom, a tower chamber once occupied by the maids 
of honor of poor Anne Boleyn, during Henry VIITs 
ownership of the castle, looking across the moat into 
a park where deer were seen grazing or vanishing amid 
great tree boles, filled my own measure of satisfaction. 
The grandson of our kind old friend is the present owner 
of the property. We had the pleasure, upon our arrival 
at Leeds Castle, of beholding, set in the oak of the 
mantel-piece in the banquet-hall, a replica of our 
portrait of Henry, the fourth Lord Fairfax, of the 
seventeenth century (the "missing link" they called it 
in England, long years since vanished into America), 
which we had brought over, the year before, to be cleaned 
in London, allowing this copy to be made for Leeds 
Castle, another for Colonel Ackroyd, of Yorkshire. The 
copy of the graceful young man in armor still keeps its 
place at Leeds Castle, but the original, after sundry 
wanderings in the New World, has now "brought up" 
on the wall of my library in which these fines are penned. 
After an inspiring visit to London, we re-embarked 
at Southampton in the Western Metropolis^ a poor old 
side-wheel steamer, put on by the Guion Line to re- 
place the one in which we had engaged passage. While 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 271 

crossing recently in a new "monster of the deep," with 
every luxury from a Hft to a Ritz restaurant and wireless 
telegraphy aboard, I thought of our saihng in that 
wretched tub on an autumn voyage through stormy seas, 
when it took sixteen days to bring us from shore to shore, 
and for a week we rolled and plunged over mighty bil- 
lows, hardly crediting that she could survive the storm. 
We ate such meals as we could at table in a saloon into 
which opened the cabins where lay and groaned our 
ailing fellow-passengers. Annie Morris and I, soon re- 
covering from malaise, persisted in playing the part of 
stormy petrels upon deck. 

All things have an end, and one bright day in early 
November saw us landing at New York, and carrying 
through the customs a set of very important trunks from 
Paris. On the 26th of November I was married to 
Burton Harrison in the little church, St. Ann's, built 
by my uncle, Gouverneur Morris, to the memory of his 
mother, my brother giving me away. We returned 
to Morrisania for the reception, where were present 
a large assemblage of representatives of New York 
and Virginian families, with a contingent of Yale men, 
and of " Bones men" summoned by the bridegroom to 
stand by their loyal brother on his translation into mar- 
ried life. 

To complete the requirements of a family chronicle, 
(this chiefly for my granddaughters), I will add that the 
bride wore a gown made by "Caroline Boyer, Faubourg 
St. Honore, Paris," of white satin with large pipings of 
the same, heading frills of blonde lace; a full tulle veil 
and a coronet of orange blossoms; that her brides- 
maids appeared in Paris confections of white tarlatan 
with many skirts, bodices of white satin, and wreaths 
and bouquets of lilies of the valley; and that the bride's 



2/2 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

going-away gown, of marron velvet with a toque made 
of a pheasant's breast crowned with a golden rose and 
foliage, supported her during the trying ordeal of com- 
ing down the stairs into the old panelled hall, between 
the Marie Antoinette mirrors and tapestries of the Reign 
of Terror, into a lane of people headed by men joyously 
singing old Yale ditties as the carriage drove away! 



CHAPTER XII 

WHAT an odd, provincial, pleasant little old 
New York was that of the seventies, just 
when the waves of after-the-war prosperity 
had begun to strike its sides and make it feel the im- 
pulse toward a progress never afterward to cease! 

Broadway, a long, unlovely thoroughfare, was filled 
with huddled buildings, monotonous in line and tint. 
Union and Madison Squares were still inclosed in high 
railings (removed after 1871 and sold at auction), their 
grass and trees, as now, a great relief to the eye in 
passing. Fifth Avenue, fringed on either side with 
telegraph poles, was abominably paved with irregular 
blocks of stone, so that a drive to the park, or "away 
up-town to Fiftieth Street," was accompanied by much 
wear and tear to the physical and nervous system. The 
celebrated and delightful Dr. Fordyce Barker used to say 
he actually could not recommend a convalescent patient 
to take the air, because of the necessary jolting in a car- 
riage in any direction away from the residential quarter. 

Apart from this discomfort, the noise of continuous 
passage of vehicles knowing not rubber tires made open 
windows in one's home a purgatorial trial. Certainly, 
we modern grumblers in asphalted streets heave no sigh 
of regret for that feature of the dear old by-gone says ! 

Plodding up and down town jogged the lamentable old 
omnibuses, filled, as Mr. J. W. Cross once said of them, 
"exactly the way we stuff the carts with calves in Lon- 
don," A sorry spectacle, indeed, was that of well- 

273 



274 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

dressed, well-bred New Yorkers clinging to straps, 
jaded, jammed, jostled, panting in the aisle of these 
hearse-like equipages, to reach their goal. An astute 
traveller from France, Monsieur Simonet, in an arti- 
cle published at that time in the Revue des Deux Mondes, 
guilelessly records that he was "told in New York" it 
was the custom of *'the ladies," on getting into a full 
omnibus in Fifth Avenue, to seat themselves on the knees 
of "gentlemen" already placed! The conditions of 
horse-cars in the neighboring avenues showed for many 
years no improvement upon this discomfort, and the 
prices of "hacks" and "coaches," procured after much 
preamble at the livery-stables, were prohibitive save for 
the solvent citizen. On New-Year's-Day, when calls 
were made by men upon the families of their friends, 
it was common for four of the intending visitors to unite 
in paying forty dollars for the hire of a ponderous old 
hack, of the Irish funeral variety, and go their rounds 
clad in evening dress, rumbling over the stony streets, 
from mid-day till dinner-time at six o'clock. 

In the absence of cabs, hansoms, and the sportive 
"taxis" — then as unimaginable as the air-ship in com- 
mon use appears to-day — walking was very much in 
vogue. It was a general practice of professional men, 
possessing offices down town to go afoot in all weathers 
from their dwellings to their business haunts and back 
again. A lawyer prominent in that day lately said to 
me: "And weren't we the better for it, I'd like to know } 
Who doesn't remember Clarkson Potter's handsome, 
erect figure and springing step, like a boy's in middle- 
age; and David Dudley Field who always took his ex- 
ercise in that way (as well as on horseback, v/ith a rest 
before dinner). Wasn't he a picture of vigor in later 
life .^ No dieting and health foods about those men, 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 275 

I'll promise you. And what a cheery meeting-place 
Broadway was for friends!" 

It must be remembered, though, that the residential 
part of town was then far south of its present Hmit. 
Arrogant old Isaac Brown, of Grace Church, the portly 
sexton who transmitted invitations for the elect, pro- 
tested to one of his patronesses that he really could not 
undertake to "run society" beyond Fiftieth Street. 

Central Park was already beginning to be beautiful 
in verdant slopes and flowering shrubs and trees, al- 
though still surrounded, and the way to it disfigured, 
by hill-sides from which segments were cut away Hke 
slices from a cheese, upon the summit of which perched 
the cabins of Irish squatters left high and dry by the 
march of municipal progress. The territory around 
these dwellings was populous with curs, urchins, goats, 
pigs, and mounds of debris revealing old tin cans 
and discarded hoop-skirts. 

To reach old Morrisania, we generally walked to 
the car-sheds on the site of the present Madison 
Square Garden, there taking our seats in a train of 
ordinary day-coaches, drawn in sections by horses 
along Fourth Avenue, through the tunnel at Thirty- 
fourth Street — then a drear and malodorous vault! — 
to the Grand Central Station where locomotives were 
attached. The alternative to this method of reaching 
Mott Haven was an hour spent in an ill-ventilated, 
car of the Third Avenue line, drawn by shambling, 
staggering horses, and crammed with an East Side 
population bearing babies and market -baskets in 
equal numbers. For a brief time the company put upon 
this line what they called a "palace car," large, clean, 
and comfortable, charging ten cents for a fare. But the 
great American public that has always dominated New 



276 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

York condemned this as an aristocratic luxury, and 
so it passed from sight. Later on, when we began to 
achieve Harlem by means of the elevated road, I re- 
member going out one day to my uncle's house for lunch- 
eon, accompanied by our friend Eugene Schuyler, 
who had recently made his adventurous journey into 
Turkestan. On crossing part of the towering trestle 
work beyond Central Park, he declared he felt positively 
ill with apprehension, begging me please to return by 
boat, train, horse-car — anything — rather than repeat 
this alarming experience! 

Dinners then, as now, the touch-stone of highest civ- 
ilization, were numerous, but the hours set for them 
much earlier than now. From six o'clock we moved 
on to half-past six, then to ultra-fashionable seven, and 
lastly to eight o'clock, where the generality of people are 
still content to assemble for the prandial meal. To my 
mind, those dinners have never been surpassed in true 
elegance and charm, although totally lacking in the sen- 
sational features of decoration, gifts, and cookery de- 
veloped by later generations of New Yorkers. By the 
owners of certain stately homes possessing chefs and 
wines of admitted merit, formal banquets after the for- 
eign fashion were given in the best style. But well- 
bred people of less pretension to great wealth and the 
custom of elaborate entertaining were satisfied to bid 
their friends to meals served to the last nicety in silver, 
damask, porcelain, and glass, by their own customary at- 
tendants, and cooked by their own resident artists after 
a fashion habitual to them in the family menu of every 
day — a practice happily pursued in many aristocratic 
homes of Britain and to be seen in kindly easy Wash- 
ington, but little familiar in New York to-day. 

What would have been thought in that epoch of New 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 277 

York of a table stretched to the Hmit of the dining-room, 
with chairs so pushed together as to prevent free move- 
ment with spoon and fork; where forty or more guests, 
corralled to eat insidious messes served by caterers are 
shepherded by strange waiters on tiptoe thrusting be- 
tween them fish, flesh, and fowl, with their attendant 
cates and condiments, at quarters so close the alarmed 
diner must shrink back in order to avoid contact with 
the offered dish! 

No, that was hardly the way they served dinners in the 
seventies! Rather were friends convened to the number 
often or twelve around mahoganies of generous size and 
space (small enough for talk to fly easily across them), 
and host and hostess were near enough to their guests 
to mark their own individuality upon the feast. Upon 
the authority of the late Mr. Ward McAllister, we are 
told, that "Blue Seal Johannisberg flowed like water; 
incomparable '48 claret, superb Burgundies and am- 
ber-colored Madeira were there to add to the intoxi- 
cating delight " of the best New York dinner and supper 
tables. But, as the present chronicler has never been 
able to distinguish old wine from new, she fears in this 
matter she is in the category of a certain well-known lit- 
erary lady of New York, of whom Mr. Ward McAllister 
once remarked to me with scathing emphasis: "She 
write stories of New York society! Why, I have seen 
her, myself, buying her Madeira at Park & Tilford's in 
a demijohn." 

It is not in me to off'er regretful comparison of the 
New York of my first acquaintance, its people content 
to dwell in barns of brick with brown-stone fronts, 
its chief avenues as yet untouched by the finger of 
art in beautiful buildings, some of its streets yet en- 
cumbered with rows of trucks and wagons kept there 



278 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

by their owners for want of a place of shelter ash and 
refuse barrels in all their hideous ofFensiveness stand- 
ing by the basement doors of refined citizens, with our 
later city of wondrous progress, a gathering-place of the 
art of the whole wide world, as well as a sovereign of 
finance! 

But putting aside the physical aspects of the place; 
forgetting certain inherited crudities of custom, its vul- 
gar or lifeless architecture, I have never seen reason to 
renounce my belief that the period I write of was illus- 
trated by the best society New York has known since 
colonial days. It is generally admitted by commen- 
tators of our social life to-day that the rock we split upon 
is the lack of leadership. As to who are the present 
real great ladies of New York, there is in the public mind 
a nebulous uncertainty only occasionally dispelled by 
the dictum of some writer for the newspapers. 

In the earlier period. New York possessed what none 
could question: a sovereignty over its body corporate 
divided between five or six gentlewomen of such birth, 
breeding, and tact that people were always satisfied to be 
led by them. Mrs. Hamilton Fish, Mrs. Lev/is Morris 
Rutherford, Mrs. Belmont, Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt, 
and the two Mrs. Astors were the ladies whose enter- 
tainments claimed most comment, whose fiat none 
were found to dispute. 

Of these, Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt seemed to me easily 
the most beautiful; and in the graciousness of her man- 
ner and that inherent talent for winning and holding the 
sympathetic interest of those around her, I have seen 
none to surpass her. One asks oneself why such love- 
liness of line and tinting, why such sweet courtesy of 
manner, cannot be passed down the years instead of 
dying upon the stem like a single perfect flower! Why 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 279 

nature, having formed such a combination, should not 
be content with repeating it! This lady was of South- 
ern birth, and many stories were whispered of her un- 
happiness during the war because of the fulminations 
of the Northern family into which she had married 
against her Confederate kin and sympathies. I re- 
member her, first, in a small, inconspicuous house, one 
of a brown-stone row in a street between Broadway and 
Fourth Avenue, where her afternoons at home seemed 
somehow to convey a waft of violets, of which blossoms 
she had many surrounding her; and the service of her 
door and tea-table was performed by neat little maids 
dressed in lilac print gowns, with muslin aprons and 
caps surmounted by bows of ribbon in the same shade. 
In the course of time the Roosevelts moved uptown into 
a handsome modern house in west Fifty-seventh Street. 
There a great ball was given, to which we w^ent. I be- 
lieve it was to celebrate the entrance into society of 
the eldest daughter, and the story was circulated that 
eleven hundred invitations had been sent forth, I find 
this mentioned in a letter written to my mother in Balti- 
more, by whom I was besought to keep her au courant 
of everything, big or little, in my new experience. I 
have no souvenirs to contribute concerning the early 
youth of the future President, but I fancy he was then 
enjoying the glorious indifference of sturdy boyhood to 
the social happenings of the hour. 

Mrs. Belmont was a woman of charm and distinction, 
to whom fortune had allotted means and opportu- 
nity to take the lead in entertainments of the grandiose 
foreign order, in a great house, with an illumined pict- 
ure-gallery and everything on a corresponding scale. 
It was said of her later in life that much sorrow and the 
tragic death of one of her sons in that stately mansion 



28o RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

had taken from her all power of enjoying it; a commen- 
tary that might appropriately be made upon the ex- 
perience of many others we have seen ride for awhile 
on the crest of the social wave, then pass away into 
shadows. 

Mrs. John Jacob Astor was at the time I first came 
to New York a noble-looking woman, full of gracious 
sweetness and wide humanity. Her parties were a 
happy union of the best elements procurable in New 
York, surrounded by all that wealth and taste could 
add to originality of conception. Her Southern blood 
revealed itself in the cordiality and simplicity with 
which this lady bore her honors of leadership. 

Mrs. Hamilton Fish, a matron of exemplary dignity 
who transferred her regnant attitude toward society 
from New York to Washington, where her husband was 
Secretary of State in Grant's administration, belonged 
to the Faubourg St. Germain side of New York, the 
Second Avenue " set, " embracing a number of old-school 
families of colonial ancestry who had not thought it 
worth their while to remove from their broad and spa- 
cious residences on the East Side to emulate the mere 
fashion of living in Fifth Avenue. 

In this quarter abode also Mrs. Rutherfurd, wife 
of the gentle and learned astronomer. Their oldest 
son, Stuyvesant Rutherfurd, had reversed his name 
on inheriting the Stuyvesant fortune. His first mar- 
riage was with Miss Pierrepont, of Brooklyn, a pictu- 
resque beauty much beloved by her friends. They in- 
herited a large mansion not far from his father's. No 
parties seemed more agreeable to me, more an exponent 
of the best New York could do in the way of uniting 
gentlepeople all of a kind, than Mrs. Rutherfurd's. 
That pair presented the unusual combination of an un- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 281 

commonly beautiful woman married to an uncommonly 
handsome and distinguished man. Mrs. Rutherfurd 
was a law-giver in her circle, and no weak one; she 
invited whom she pleased, as she pleased; and an of- 
fender against her exactions came never any more. But 
she had the prettiest way in the world of putting peo- 
ple in appropriate place. 

It was on the East Side of town that we, "recon- 
structed" rebels, first pitched our tent in New York, 
so long to be our home, in a building since locally re- 
marked for the number of "people one knows" who 
made a beginning there. This was the apartment house 
built by Mr. Rutherfurd Styuvesant, in Eighteenth Street 
near staid and well-mannered little Irving Place. Our 
flat was diminutive in size like all the rest, and not es- 
pecially sunny, situated at the summit of two long flights 
of stairs, of small account in those days when Rosa- 
lind's complaint to Jupiter rarely occurred to us. This 
"apartment," as we took care to call it, thinking "flat" 
had a vulgar sound, had been engaged while yet in 
lath and plaster, and we climbed workmen's ladders to 
survey our future domicile. The suites, it was said, 
were mostly taken in this way, by friends or relatives 
of the proprietor, the list producing a very old Knicker- 
bocker sort of eff'ect upon the outside mind. 

I am sure no perfectly equipped Fifth Avenue es- 
tablishment, fitted up beforehand by the fairies who 
obey the wands of millionaires, ever gave to a young 
couple the delight we took in our simple quarters. The 
contrast with surroundings in the war-worn South made 
the simple necessaries of life, disposed with taste and 
harmony, seem a fairy tale. I had brought from 
Paris some understanding of the decorative value of 
cretonne in small rooms, and the French gray of my lit- 



282 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

tie salon, with its draperies and furnitureof gray cretonne 
relieved by medallions of pale blue enshrining shepherds 
and shepherdesses, hearts and darts, pipes and tabors 
tangled with knots of ribbon, filled the measure of my 
ambition as a housekeeper. 

A curious instance of the result of the Commune in 
Paris was the drifting to our shores of many of the 
miscreants who had worked havoc with the beauty and 
done to death the fair fame of that imperial city, under 
the guise of patriotism. My recollection of the hard- 
working, cheery servants at the Ville au Bois, up early 
and to bed late, serving delicious meals and keeping 
the house in every part agleam with cleanliness, dis- 
posed me to make my first efforts at securing domestic 
service among those of their nationality in New York. 

The rather prompt result was the installation of two 
women concerning whom close scrutiny failed to arouse 
the demon Doubt in our artless minds. The cook, 
Suzanne, otherwise Mme. Dubois, wife of a clock-maker 
with whom she had emigrated to America, hoping to 
set up a shop and dispose of an assortment of his wares, 
had the handsome tragic mask of some actress of the 
Comedie Fran^aise. She was dark, capable, and silent; 
respectful in manner, but with an expression that more 
than once suggested to me one of those matrons of the 
Terror who sat knitting while royal and aristocratic 
heads dropped into the basket beneath the guillotines. 
From the date of her arrival things moved smoothly 
in her domain, and her excellent cuisine made house- 
keeping a summer's day. Florence, her friend and com- 
rade, who went about her work singing, in the frilled 
cap and apron of a heroine of Beranger or Murger, was 
an extremely pretty girl, silver-voiced and nearly always 
smiling. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 283 

By and by we began to detect in the long hall lead- 
ing from the back stairs to our kitchen stealthy foot- 
steps, arriving daily just as our dinner was going off. 
Later on in the evening more footsteps, and from afar 
the sound of muffled voices. It was evident that Su- 
zanne's husband did not neglect a diurnal visit to his 
spouse. Poor M. Dubois, Suzanne explained to us, 
had been unfortunate in his venture. Madame, she 
observed, had several mantels needing clocks. Would 
madame allow M. Dubois the privilege of decorating 
them with a few choice specimens of his unsold time- 
pieces for which he had no place .? 

Madame, rashly acquiescing, on returning home one 
afternoon found every room in the flat adorned with 
a costly clock, all ticking and chiming together with dis- 
tracting regularity; and that evening the number of 
visitors to the kitchen increased perceptibly, the house- 
hold bills making a corresponding jump upward in the 
week. 

Soon, Suzanne and her bosom friend Florence had a 
hot quarrel, which raged until Florence, bouncing into 
the drawing-room, informed madame that the Duboises, 
having been in the front rank of the horrible " vengeurs 
de la Republique" in the Commune, had fled to America 
through fear of the guillotine; and that our daily caller 
was none other than the infamous wretch who boasted 
that his shot had killed the good and gentle archbishop 
of Paris, Darboy, in the massacre of the hostages at the 
prison of La Roquette! 

Next day Suzanne took her leave, polite to the end, 
but with a vengeful gleam in her cold eye that boded ill 
for the informing Florence. The clocks vanished from 
our mantels, M. Dubois came not again, and I breathed 
a sigh of relief that I had escaped so easily from the 



284 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

hands of the handsome petroleuse. Next, pretty Flor- 
ence also took her leave, declaring that she needed "pro- 
tection," being forced to give up service through fear of 
the Duboises,and departed bag and baggage in company 
with a "Monsieur," who called for her in a cab. After 
that we made no more experiments in foreign domes- 
tics, contenting ourselves with unadulterated Irish. 

We now found ourselves in a circle of acquaintances, 
alien in political creed, with a few exceptions among the 
Southerners already established in New York, but most 
kind and considerate always, and every year the number 
grew and firmer friendships were cemented. 

I cannot pretend to be chronologically exact as to 
the social events of those years or their sequences. We 
went out a great deal, as appears from the series of let- 
ters addressed to my mother, my most constant cor- 
respondent. There is the record of a ball at the Acad- 
emy of Music of which Lord DufFerin was the bright 
particular star among the guests, with Sir Tatton and 
Lady Sykes and some other smart English folk in the 
party. Mrs. Edward Cooper, of Lexington Avenue, 
who entertained much and well, had asked us to be of 
this gathering, occupying two boxes, and to sup at a 
large table served for her. Lord Dufferin, with his de- 
lightful Irish gayety, resembled a school-boy "out for 
fun." I had been dancing with him, and was sitting 
afterward enjoying his sparkling wit, when the move- 
ment to supper was inaugurated. At once he arose 
and gallantly offered me his arm, when I stopped him 
with a sepulchral whisper: "Oh, thank you, but I cant! 
You are expected to take in Mrs. Cooper, don't you see ?" 
Lord DufFerin did see, and with quick tact rectified his 
blunder, while kind Mr. Cooper, who I felt mortally 
sure had never meant to ask me, but had been lookins 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 285 

forward to conducting the jolly, handsome Lady Sykes, 
stepped promptly up and led me off. He had Lady 
Sykes on his other hand, however, while I had no more 
of adorable Lord Dufferin until we were breaking up, 
when he came back again with a rattling fire of chaff. 
I have rarely met so agreeable a companion, and the 
story of the closing in of his honored life amid troubles 
and distress of mind, brought upon him by those whom 
he had trusted in business overmuch, was a source of 
real regret. 

To the Academy of Music we repaired for public 
balls and operas. Till late at night on those occasions 
quiet, sleepy Irving Place would resound with the roll of 
fashionable carriages and the hoarse call, by the door- 
men, of fashionable names or their equivalent numbers. 
And oh! the song-birds caged for our delectation in 
that dear old Temple of Music! There Patti, Nilsson, 
Gerster, Pauline Lucca, Annie Louise Cary, Kellogg, 
Minnie Hauk, Parepa-Rosa, Brignoli, Capoul, Campa- 
nini, Del Puente, and a host of others, sang our hearts 
out of our bodies many a time. Once when Campa- 
nini had caught sight of the great Salvini sitting in a 
box near the stage while he was taking the part of Don 
Jose in "Carmen," he rose to the occasion in quite an 
extraordinary way, acting and singing superbly. After 
he was disposed of by the toreador's dagger and came 
back to life before the foot-lights in the usual way, we 
all saw that he was pallid with real emotion. The 
house sprang upon its feet, handkerchiefs waved, roar 
after roar of applause went up; but Campanini's eyes 
sought those of Salvini only. The tragedian, leaning 
forward, clapped his hands until he could do no more. 
It was an event in musical recollection. Years later 
I was invited to a spring meeting of an amateur club in 



286 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

a fashionable New York house, where Campanini, then 
in his decline of power and popularity, was engaged to 
alternate with the club's peformances. He sang sev- 
eral times beautifully, but with a failing voice, and there 
was but lukewarm applause, after the noisy plaudits 
bestowed by their friends upon the amateurs. I saw 
him standing back, alone, waiting his next turn, and, 
unable to resist the impulse of sympathy with this ar- 
tistic giant in bonds, I went over and said a few words, 
incidentally recalling the occasion above described, when 
he acted and sang a whole opera for Salvini. Instantly 
Campanini's face flushed, his eyes kindled, and he 
broke into warm, excited eulogy of the great tragedian 
of his native country. The impression left upon me 
by these two scenes in an artist's life was ineffaceable. 



CHAPTER XIII 

I WAS connected with a musical movement in New 
York society inaugurated by a number of gentle- 
men, of which Mr. George Templeton Strong was 
the president. It was called the Church Musical Associ- 
ation, the director, Dr. Pech, an Englishman thoroughly 
trained in such conductorship. We had one hundred 
volunteers, including many people in society, and fifty 
paid singers in the choruses, with an orchestra of one 
hundred musicians, many of them from the Philhar- 
monic orchestra, of which Mr. Strong was also, or had 
been, president. Our rehearsals — solid, hard work, 
no shirking or favoritism anywhere — were held in some 
rooms belonging to Trinity Chapel. Dr. Pech, a cold, 
rather sardonic man, thoroughly knew his business and 
brought us on rapidly. Particularly did we progress 
in sight-reading, and the hours of deciphering those 
grand masses were a keen pleasure. 

Our matinees and concerts were held at stated inter- 
vals in Steinway Hall before large and fashionable 
audiences. I sat among the sopranos beside Mrs. 
George Strong, and there was great excitement when 
Dr. Pech found it necessary to raise our seats above the 
instrumentalists. We all declared we felt like blondes 
in a transformation scene, but that was soon forgotten 
in dealing with the "Twelfth Mass" of Mozart, followed 
by the first act of Weber's "Oberon," with fine pro- 
fessional soloists. We soon realized the additional 
breadth of sound gained by our elevated position. 

287 



288 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

All of us felt it an honor to sing in Steinway Hall, 
every beam and rafter of which was embalmed in 
memories of the music that had been heard there. It 
was the very home and shrine of the glorious art. There 
I heard successively on the piano Thalberg, Rubin- 
stein, Joseffy, EssipofF, MehHg, Adele Aus der Ohe, 
Arabella Goddard, Madehne Schiller, and thrilled re- 
sponse to the magic bows of Vieuxtemps, Wieniaw- 
ski, Wilhelmj, Sarasate, Carl Rosa, Camilla Urso, and 
Ole Bull on the violin. There I listened to the per- 
formances in concert of Patti, Albani, Marie Rose, 
Parepa-Rosa, Gazzaniga, Materna, LilH Lehmann, 
Nordica, and a host of other sweet singing birds of 
exalted fame. There, too, sang Campanini, Wachtel, 
Santley, and Maurel, big Formes and graceful Joseph 
Jamet, who as a poseur in Mephistopheles I never saw 
surpassed. And there, wielding the batons that sent 
afloat the waves of all this heavenly melody, we had 
Thomas, Leopold Damrosch, Seidl, Max Maretzek and 
other great leaders of their day. 

The last number of our first public concert was a 
hymn in the Jubel overture: " Rise, crowned with light, 
Imperial Salem rise," glorious words wedded to the air 
of the Russian National Anthem, and the great vol- 
ume of it most inspiring! I have often felt, since the 
Church Musical Association expired, what a good use 
it was to which to put amateurs in society, as well as a 
delightful training in that noble form of music. For 
two years we studied and sang over a wide field of 
ancient and modern church music, none of us flagging 
in zeal or interest. 

I had begun lessons with dear old Ronconi, with his 
pretty adoptive daughter to play the accompaniments, 
and in the spring sang in a chorus at his concert given 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 289 

at the Jerome Theatre, corner of 26th Street and Mad- 
ison Avenue. The next season I sang with Ronconi 
the duo from "EHsire d'Amore," at a charity concert 
in the hall of the new Young Men's Christian Associ- 
ation building. Ronconi, it will be remembered, had 
been one of the greatest dramatic singers of his day, 
and as an actor it was said of him by a writer in the 
S aturday Revieiu : "Ronconi was simply an incompara- 
ble master of all the secrets and all the resources of 
his art; by instinct, by temperament, by natural genius 
and patient study, a consummate master and one who 
neither on the lyric or any other stage, has left any suc- 
cessor to eclipse his memory among those who can 
recall his performances in 'Lucrezia Borgia,' in the 'Due 
Foscari,' in 'Maria de Rohan,' and the 'Flauto Magico,' 
and in the ' Barbiere.' Versatile as Garrick, terrible 
and pathetic as Kean, romantic and audacious as the 
great Frederick, farcical as Liston, he touched all chords 
and played on all strings with a hand that never forgot 
its cunning, and knew how to shake his audiences with 
pity, terror, laughter at his will. Never was an actor 
more richly endowed with such magnetic power of hold- 
ing an audience in his grasp, of making them feel his 
presence on the stage. Ronconi's voice, despite all 
this, was rather harsh and unsympathetic." 

Although warned to expect it, I was hardly prepared 
for his introduction of impromptu spoken words and 
phrases, for his pacing about the narrow stage and elicit- 
ing bursts of laughter from the audience, by droll faces 
and posturings I was too much alarmed to see during 
the progress of our performance. I really think the old 
fellow totally forgot the existence of his soprano, who, on 
her part, was only thankful she had been able to get to 
the final note without a break. When we had finished 



290 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

and my maestro gave me his hand for a final bow to the 
pubHc, I ventured a glance at his overpoweringly funny 
old face and no longer w^ondered at the hilarity of our 
hearers. 

The rest of the programme I do not recall, save that 
the committee had been lucky enough to secure as star 
performer Madame Anna Mehlig, the great German 
pianiste. An incident of that evening was a loud, por- 
tentous cracking, as if of lath and plaster, occurring 
during the entr'acte. Mr. Chauncey Depew, one of 
the managers, was, in a moment, upon the stage facing 
the excited audience, explaining that the sound meant 
nothing but the expansion and contraction of new wood 
in the building; one of those ready and graceful little 
speeches of his that in this case obviated a panic. 
As he concluded with a good story, everybody laughed 
and settled down into peace and good-humor for the 
remainder of the concert. 

In the spring I undertook to give a musicale to about 
thirty or forty guests, and find recorded my fears as to 
how "all these grand musicians are to be accommodated 
in my bird's nest"; for my performers were no less 
than Ronconi, Miss Adelaide Phillips, the famous 
contralto; Mrs. Gulager, Mr. Koppell, tenor, Mr. von 
Inten, pianist, and Mr. Werner, 'Court-violoncellist to 
the King of Paraguay.' '' All the rest might be fitted in, 
but I dread the big fiddle from the Court of Paraguay!" 

Everything went well, and my fears were soon al- 
layed. The affair gave pleasure to a very critical, 
if small audience, and the dear people who had per- 
formed for me for love, remained afterward for a high 
tea with substantial dishes, at which we waited on our- 
selves and had royal fun. I find a full description of 
this ambitious venture detailing both musical and cul- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 291 

inary programme, to which was added this significant 
paragraph: 

"The baby, fortunately, was invited out for the after- 
noon." 

We had a musical club, meeting at the home, in 
Madison Square, of Mr. and Mrs. S. L. M. Barlow, 
where we did earnest work. Miss Elsie Barlow was, 
of course, the leading spirit of the affair; Miss Eloise 
Breese was a member, and others whose names I fail 
to recall. The atmosphere of that wide, beautiful 
house, with the high-bred mother and daughter to 
inspire it, was in the best sense an artistic one. This 
set of girls was said to have inspired Laurence Oli- 
phant's "Irene McGillicuddy," but I do not vouch for 
the truth of the story. 

Mrs. Ronalds, who to-day has all musical and fash- 
ionable London thronging the rooms and stairways of 
her little house in Sloane Street, eager to hear the artists 
she assembles, was then in the zenith of her remarkable 
beauty, singing adorably in private and on the concert 
stage for charity. At an entertainment given at the 
little theatre built by Mr. Jerome, she won golden opin- 
ions as a prima donna of high society. 

Mr. Edmund Schermerhorn, of West Twenty-Third 
Street, used to give musical afternoons where one was 
sure of hearing only the best talent, professional and 
amateur. There, also, were enjoyed charming duos 
from his nieces. Misses Schermerhorn, whose refined 
style and technique reflected credit upon their instructor, 
Madame Bodstein, much in vogue among the old fami- 
lies of New York. 

I find a letter in which is recorded that Mrs. Ruther- 
furd called for me to go to a concert by Mrs. Gu- 
lager, where the applause was tremendous and the 



292 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

flowers so numerous they required a separate carnage 
to convey them home. This lady had a deserved repu- 
tation as a colorature singer, both in society and on the 
concert stage, and her voice was most beautiful and 
flexible. 

Mr. Roosevelt, who lived on Broadway near Grace 
Church, an uncle of the future President and father of 
Mr. Hilborne Roosevelt, afterward the maker of fine 
organs, was, like Mr. Edmund Schermerhorn, a musi- 
cal virtuoso of a high order of merit. When we went 
to his parties we found him confined to a rolling chair, 
indeed, but very much alert in directing and control- 
ling his performers and audiences. Woe betide the 
fashionable chatterer who dared venture a word out 
of season while music was going on. As a consequence, 
there were delightful instrumental treats of which no 
note was suffered to escape unheeded, and many solo- 
ists, vocal and instrumental. Our host won my heart 
by asking me for "Vedrai Carino" and "Dove Sono," 
by Mozart, in which Archaimbaud and Ronconi had 
both drilled me carefully, and which I felt I could at 
least sing correctly. 

While all the world was going daft over the exqui- 
site singing and virginal loveliness of Christine Nilsson, 
no less than the ineffably gallant and delicate acting 
of Victor Capoul in his various roles as her lover, my 
teacher, old Ronconi, invited me to see a rehearsal 
of Italian opera at the Academy. We had the big 
dusky auditorium pretty much to ourselves, with a few 
others, to see the caste of the follow^ing day's perform- 
ance of "Somnambula" go through their paces in walk- 
ing dress, with overcoats, hats, sticks, etc. Amina (was 
she Gerster ? I am not sure,) in furs, with her jacket 
tightly buttoned, tripped Qver the bridge with reluctant 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 293 

footsteps, and everybody sang a demi-voix. Rather 
disillusionizing, certainly, but not so much so as my talk 
with the elegant M. Capoul, who was presented to me 
when he came strolling around into the house. In the 
course of it, I spoke of the diva, Nilsson, her perfect 
voice, her fine art, and great personal beauty. 

"The only trouble with Mile. Nilsson," responded her 
ardent swain, with a malicious twinkle in his eye, 
"c'est qu'elle a les mains d'un crapaud" (the hands of 
a frog). C- 

" Oh ! Oh ! " I protested, in veritable distress. " Faust 
to say this of his Marguerite!" And Faust laughed 
with a glee borrowed from Mephistopheles. 

Nilsson was at the time a great favorite in society. 
She had head-quarters at the Clarendon Hotel, where in 
her free moments she was surrounded by an adoring 
clique of young matrons and maidens who found her 
frank cordiality and good-fellowship a great attraction. 
When one has lived long enough to see the completion 
or shaping out of a career, it is interesting to note its 
extremes. For many years I failed to see this lady, until 
once at Monte Carlo, strolling through the salle-de-jeu 
(which I have always found the most oppressive and 
least interesting place where idle Americans go to look 
on, in Europe!), the Countess de Miranda was pointed 
out to me sitting at one of the tables, absorbed in her 
game. A thin black veil was tightly drawn over her 
face, which bore but faint resemblance to that of the 
radiant "Queen of the Night" at the Chatelet in Paris, 
to the enchanting Marguerite of the spinning-wheel, to 
the impersonator of a dozen roles in which the great 
singer appeared to ride as in a fairy chariot over the 
hearts of vast, tumultuous audiences! 

Other social favorites were the two distinguished 



294 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

young American prime donne, Miss Clara Louise Kel- 
logg and Miss Adelaide Phillips. A Kellogg and 
Brignoli night at the Academy was sure to bring throngs 
of enthusiasts. Though Brignoli's voice was mellow 
and tuneful, the famous tenor possessed an ungraceful, 
bulky frame, and his progress across the stage ill ac- 
corded with the lover's roles in which he had always 
to appear. One wonders if the obese, middle-aged 
men who are so often called upon to sustain these parts 
embodying a mimicry of passion that only youth makes 
tolerable, do not come, in time, to hate the fair ladies 
before whom they must be forever posturing and grim- 
acing with hand on heart! 

Miss Phillips was a delightful, whole-souled woman, 
famed for her Azucena, the gypsy mother in "Trova- 
tore," a notably fine production. Madame Etelka 
Gerster was for a time a supreme favorite at the Acad- 
emy. As Amina in "Somnambula," Lucia, and several 
similar parts she was incomparable. Pauline Lucca also 
held us in thrall with her rather mignonne beauty and 
exquisite rich soprano voice. 

The Philharmonic Society's concerts, and their final 
rehearsals held on the day previous, were occasions 
when the big old theatre was packed to its utmost ca- 
pacity. At the rehearsals, women and girls crowded 
in till the lobbies were unpleasantly congested with eager 
and palpitant femininity. In spring and summer all 
the world resorted to the open-air concerts of the wizard, 
Theodore Thomas, at the Central Park. His orchestra, 
like its leader, was in the first rank of musical excellence. 
In the stroll during the entr'actes, the fashionable world 
met and discussed the programme and each other. No 
old-time New Yorker of musical sympathy, but will 
answer to the rappel of the charming Mendelssohn 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 295 

Glee Club. The first conceit I attended given by 
this distinguished amateur association of male voices, 
was in a small room or hall on Broadway somewhere 
near Grace Church, when Mrs. Arthur, wife of the 
future President, sang the soprano soli for their chorus. 
Mr. Mosenthal conducted with the vigor and knowl- 
edge that kept this organization upon a high plane of 
excellence for many years. I think it might have been 
twenty years later, after I had been hearing them off 
and on during that time, that I was present at one of 
their concerts, to outward appearance much the same, 
save that the leader had lost the slenderness of youth 
and the hall was some grand up-to-date interior. 

One can't fail to experience a sense of regret that tht 
great, swelling wave of noble professional music from 
the foremost artists of the world has long ago swept 
away every trace of amateur attempt to appear before 
a critical audience of New York society. With the pres- 
ent abundance and accessibility of operas and concerts, 
large and small, there is literally no room for music of 
the second grade, whereby amateurs earnest in pursuit 
of the divine art lose an immense deal of wholesome 
and uplifting pleasure. 

I remember so well years later when the "music of 
the future" first possessed the stage of the Metropoli- 
tan Opera House. We were dining in Lenox, at the 
house of Mr. William Whitney, in company with Mr. 
George Haven, when the conversation turned upon the 
prospects for opera in the forthcoming season, both Mr. 
Whitney and Mr. Haven being directors of the opera. 
Mr. Haven told us they had, with much uncertainty as 
to the success of the venture, engaged a German com- 
pany, and were going to give Wagner's operas. With 
the most comical face, he confessed that he knew noth- 



296 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

ing whatever about Wagner, and doubted if Whitney 
did, or "any of the rest of our fellows." But they were 
going to make the venture all the same, and "let Dam- 
rosch have his way." 

The first season was rather uphill work in educating 
the New York public. The owners of the boxes who 
felt they had a mission to accomplish, and the large 
German population in the galleries, did their best, but 
many of the evenings were manifestly "slow." People 
protested against the long spaces of uninteresting dia- 
logue in which Wagner explained his plots. They de- 
clared he had no sense of humor to help him in lightening 
the burden of his magnificent metaphysics. Finally, 
it came to pass that in the two rows of boxes containing 
devoted stockholders and their guests, the spectacle was 
seen of many cold shoulders turned upon the stage, while 
conversation went on merrily until the music-lovers in 
the audience hissed it down. I sent a little joke to 
Life which, as they considered it to embody two dol- 
lars' worth of fun, I will repeat. " Friend of the family 
(visiting Mrs. Bullion in her parterre-box at the Metro- 
politan Opera, during a performance of the ' Flying 
Dutchman'): 'What is that strange noise in the cloak- 
room back of the box.?' Mrs. Bullion: 'Oh! don't 
mind. It's only the girls playing bean-bags with their 
callers. They're young, poor things, and must have 
something to pass away the time.'" 

One evening when a parterre-box was sent to me, 
I invited to accompany us the American Minister to 
Greece — Mr. Walker Fearn — and his wife, and Mr. and 
Mrs. Frederick Whitridge, the latter a daughter of 
Matthew Arnold. We had "Tristan and Isolde" with 
Lilli Lehmann, Vogl, and Fischer, Seidl conducting glo- 
riously, a perfect banquet of high art. I asked Mrs. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 297 

Whitridge about her father's beautiful poem, "Tristan 
and Iseult," whether this performance in illustration of 
the theme would not arouse his enthusiasm, 

**Not at all," said she. "He never enjoyed the music 
of the Wagner operas, but would go to them in Berlin 
for the sake of the stories, which he adored." 

A few days after the above entry in my diary of the 
time, we went to hear Lehmann and Vogl in the"Got- 
terdammerung." The act in the wood where Siegfried 
was murdered was superb; the Death March and on 
to the end thrilled the marrow of one's bones, giv- 
ing a feeling of intense nervous sympathy. Surely 
there is no grander music than parts of that score, and 
Seidl rides through it like a conquering hero. People 
listened as if in a thrilling dream. Whereby it will 
be perceived that the musical education of at least a por- 
tion of the New York public had rapidly advanced. 

One of the most picturesque and vivid of our visitors 
from over-sea was Laurence Oliphant, whom I met sev- 
eral times during his visits to New York, always com- 
ing away from a talk with him with a sense of mental 
refreshment and the influence of a truly original per- 
sonality. 



CHAPTER XIV 

A MONG notable public events after our first set- 
/"% tling in New York, there was the riot of 1871, 
in which twenty-nine policemen and soldiers were 
killed and wounded, together with one hundred and four 
of their assailants, in the attack of Irish Catholics upon 
parading Orangemen. To me, so recently inured to 
war's alarms, this affair did not seem more than a heavy 
skirmish, although it produced a great sensation in the 
town. Our many years of peace and happiness suc- 
ceeding the turmoil and trials of early youth now set in, 
leaving our Httle family without a history. My hus- 
band had been recommended by Mr. Charles O'Conor 
to prefer charges before the judiciary committee of the 
Assembly at Albany against one of the most flagrant 
offenders among the corrupt judges of the Tweed regime 
who then disgraced the bench of the Superior Court of 
the city of New York. This he did with such vigor and 
conviction in opening the trial for the prosecution, in 
an argument lasting one day, followed by Messrs. 
John E. Parsons, Van Cott, and Stickney for the New 
York Bar Association, that the offender was promptly 
found guilty and removed from the bench. 

The many kind words spoken of my husband by his 
brothers at the bar and in the public prints of the day, 
complimenting him upon this service to the public, were 
most gratifying to us both. A year later he left me 
alone with my small son to go as one of the commission- 
ers of a company formed to follow up President Grant's 

298 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 299 

project to annex and develop the island of Santo Do- 
mingo, rejected by the Senate in 1870. The three en- 
voys were Burton Harrison, Captain Samuel B. Sam- 
uels, and T. Scott Stewart, all of New York; sailing 
over wintry seas on the little steamer Tybee^ a craft 
suspiciously uncertain in seaworthiness, and arriving 
at Santo Domingo after a stormy passage, to begin ne- 
gotiations with President Bonaventura Baez of the Do- 
minican republic for a commercial concession to their 
association styled the Samana Bay Company. The 
story of their adventures and reception by the suave if 
off-colored president, and the speedy promise of his 
agreement to their terms, made a picturesque chapter, 
and the commissioners returned to New York bearing 
their sheaves in triumph. The subsequent winter, that 
of 1873, was spent by Burton Harrison in London, where 
the commissioners dragged through long hours in the 
city, placing securities of the company whose banner 
seemed to be flying high; but in 1874, President Baez 
was deposed by one of the customary revolutions and the 
company fell to earth with him. Naught remained with 
us in result of our commissioners' efforts save a box 
of wondrous sweetmeats, guava and limes wedding their 
luscious flavors, sent me with the compliments of the 
late president of the Dominican republic, and a case 
of wine presented by him to my husband, of which one 
or two bottles remain unopened in the family to this day 
as a souvenir of the affair. 

It was during this absence in London that Mr. Har- 
rison received tidings at Christmas of the birth of his 
second child, the news arriving by Atlantic cable — then 
also in infancy — in these terms: "Boy. Bothwell," the 
two last words telescoped by the operator to the bewil- 
derment of the recipient, who for some hours believed 



300 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

himself the proprietor of a son endowed with the title 
of Scott's ferocious hero of song and story. This pseu- 
donym went with the future congressman into school 
life, was signed to his prize essays at college, and con- 
tinued to serve as a friendly alias whenever needed! 

The possession of a strenuous young family compel- 
ling a remove from the apartment, we found a cheery, 
sunshine-haunted house at the corner of Lexing- 
ton Avenue, a block beyond Gramercy Park, where 
we lived for many years. Within the high iron railings 
of Gramercy Park the children of that neighborhood, 
whose parents held keys to the square, were taken for 
their first airing, and grew up to vigorous boyhood. 
Many among them, now fathers of families of their own, 
look back with kindly affection upon the sports, tussles, 
and interchange of pledges of good-fellowship around 
the fountain and in the green arcades of that dear old 
enclosure. 

One of my first callers in the new house was the ven- 
erable Mr. Samuel B. Ruggles, of Union Square, who 
told me that as a boy he used to roam over all the land 
in our neighborhood (the old Gramercy farm), and 
had often picked watercresses in a beautiful little silvery 
stream that flowed directly through our then cellar! 
Mr. Ruggles, a genial and accomplished gentleman, was 
also a far-seeing and public-spirited citizen. He it was 
who laid out and set aside Gramercy Park to be the 
perpetual possession of property-owners surrounding 
it, in order to tempt the erection of the handsome and 
substantial homes subsequently built there. Facing 
the square or near it, in our time, were the homes of 
Mr. James W. Gerard, Mr. Cyrus Field, Mr. David 
Dudley Field, Mr. John Bigelow, Mr. George Temple- 
ton Strong, Mr. William G. Hamilton, Mr. Cordandt 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 301 

Palmer, Mr. Peter Cooper and his son-in-law, Mr. 
Abram Hewitt; Mr. Edward Cooper, Mile, de Janon, 
and Mr. Samuel J. Tilden. When, in due time, a third 
son was added to our number, his eyes opened upon the 
glare of torches lighting up the entire neighborhood its 
house fronts, and rooms, as well as the trees in Gram- 
ercy Park, borne in the hands of a mighty procession of 
citizens on their march to congratulate Mr. Tilden upon 
his election to be President of the United States. 

This fond belief of the Democrats, among whom my 
husband had been one of the ardent and prominent 
workers in Mr. Tilden's behalf, died out with the smoke 
of the torches, and bitter disappointment with an undy- 
ing conviction of their hero's real success, remained to 
rankle in the unsuccessful party's breast. 

We often saw Mr. Tilden, who with the gentlemen 
enumerated above and their families, were our kindly 
neighbors. Mr. Peter Cooper, a well-beloved and hon- 
ored figure in our midst, who had for old and young, 
gentle and simple, the same benignant smile and greet- 
ing, lived at the opposite corner from us. A commen- 
tary upon the universality of his charity was the naif re- 
mark of one of our children to a tramp hovering around 
our door-step. "Don't come here, man. My father 
will scare you off! Go over to Mr. Cooper's house. 
They all get something there!" 

Perhaps the secret chronicle of Mr, Harrison's givings, 
especially to the unending train of so-called Southern 
survivors of the Lost Cause that promenaded through 
his office, might have told a different tale! The number 
of needy "veterans of the Southern service," who in- 
duced my husband and my brother to pay their way 
back to Dixie, reappearing directly after, in the thor- 
oughfares of New York, was a formidable one. The 



302 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

argument of their victims offered in shame-faced ex- 
cuse for having been so often taken in, was that it 
were better far to be mulcted now and then, than to let 
one fellow-countryman who needed a helping hand, 
go out unheeded into the chill environment of a great 
city's streets. 

In the summer of 1875, Burton Harrison was secre- 
tary and counsel of the first Rapid Transit Commission 
of the city of New York, appointed under the so-called 
Husted Act to consider the necessity of a system of rapid 
transit for New York, and if they could find such ne- 
cessity to exist, to fix upon proper routes. Under the 
decision of this commission, of which Joseph Seligman 
was chairman, the elevated railways on Ninth, Sixth, 
Third, and Second Avenues were constructed and were 
for many years the main arteries of the town. 

Mr. Harrison was also counsel for the Western Union 
Telegraph Company and the New York Telephone 
Company for many years, and was frequently heard in 
the Court of Appeals and the Supreme Court of the 
United States. He was one of the earliest members 
of the New York Bar Association and a member of 
several leading clubs. Thus, from the first, our lives 
were cast in busy but pleasant places, amid the hum and 
stir of current events in the great city of our adoption, 
even before I took up the professional ink-splashing 
which has filled so large a portion of my life. 

The first venture of the kind I embarked upon in 
New York was at the instance of the Rev, Dr. Francis 
Vinton, of Trinity Church, who suggested to me the ad- 
visability of writing out a few stories of foreign experi- 
ence that had amused him in recital. These he placed, 
signed by initials only, in one of the popular magazines. 

It was later on, at the time of the Centennial Exhi- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 303 

bition in Philadelphia, where "all the world was fur- 
bishing up ancestors and setting them on end, in com- 
pany with Colonial teapots, queue-ties, rusty muskets, 
snuffboxes and paduasoys," that it occurred to me to 
"open the strong-box of antiquity and abstract from 
there a charming little figure, who, like the ' Bride of 
the Mistletoe Bough,' had lain mouldering many a 
long year." 

The quaint little personage proved interesting to the 
public because of her intimate friendship with General 
Washington and the innocent wit of her childish chron- 
icle. The appearance of "A Little Centennial Lady," 
in Scribiiers Magazine, and the kind treatment it re- 
ceived from the critics, including the never-too-flatter- 
ing Nation, emboldened me to go on. "Golden Rod," 
reflecting our own experience in a summer journey to 
Bar Harbor with our children, was next published 
anonymously in Harper s JVeekly, and afterward in a 
little volume of the Half-Hour Series. From that time 
to the present I have been writing for my pleasure and 
to meet engagements made with editors, 

I am afraid my promptitude in meeting literary en- 
gagements indicates the absence of the ear-marks of 
genius from an author. But certainly, the years spent 
in writing novels and tales published in Europe and 
America, plays, historical studies, and essays, special 
editorial articles by request on topics of the hour, etc., 
have given me much happiness and made for me 
friends both in my own country and abroad, where 
my work has often appeared in translations. 

The first sorrow that came to our cheerful home in 
Lexington Avenue was the death of my mother while 
on a visit to us in the autumn of 1875. 



304 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

In a memorial pamphlet written at the time for pri- 
vate distribution, I poured the full flow of my appre- 
ciation of her almost perfect character. If she had 
faults, we knew them not. For high heroism and pure 
unselfishness, for exquisite sympathy with humanity 
and eager intellectuality combined, I have never known 
her equal; and for her children there were many long 
sad months before life seemed the same after she was 
snatched from them by sudden illness. 

I spent a good part of the winter following in service 
as a visitor at Bellevue Hospital. What an extraordi- 
nary change it was to be almost daily seeing the reverse 
side of the tapestry of the rich and prosperous New York 
I had known hitherto. The trained-nurse system, which 
Bellevue afterward made famous, had not then been 
put into active operation. The visiting ladies, under 
Mrs. Osborne's direction, had each a ward where they 
examined and reported to authority the conditions sur- 
rounding the patients. 

A sharp contrast was presented between my attend- 
ance upon these waifs of the streets of a great cosmo- 
politan city, and the soldiers we had worked for in the 
South. A little story I wrote — which was translated 
afterward into other languages — grew out of a true 
incident of my Bellevue visiting. It was about an old 
French musician who played in Pasdeloup's orchestra 
in Paris, and was noticed by the great violinist Joachim, 
for commendation. When he returned home after this 
supreme event, he found his only child, his daughter 
Gabrielle, fled in dishonor from his home. Following 
her to the New World, he saw and was repudiated by 
her from her carriage standing in the street. For a 
time he played as a member of the Philharmonic or- 
chestra in New York, then, falling ill, lost his power over 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 305 

his bow, and drifted downward until he became a ward 
helper at Bellevue. There, one day, when asked to 
"lend a hand" in carrying out a dead body from one 
of the wards, a gust of wind blew the cloth from off her 
face, revealing that of his lost and beloved Gabrielle! 

I, also, like so many preceding and succeeding women 
in New York, served my apprenticeship as a manager 
of the Nursery and Child's Hospital Board, of which 
Mrs. Algernon Sydney Sullivan, a Virginian of execu- 
tive ability and tact, was, and still is, the chairman. In 
company with Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt, I went on 
tours of inspection of the institution and performed the 
other duties assigned to us. I mention these things to 
show acquaintance in detail with the practical work- 
ing of some of the great charities of New York, which 
also gave me a correct idea of the mission fulfilled 
by many deemed worldlings by those who read of 
them only in newspapers as partakers of fashionable 
functions. There has been so much in the external 
aspect of modern New York society to tempt the nov- 
elist to wing light shafts of satire, I sometimes fear I 
have erred in this particular when it would have been 
as easy to call attention to the substantial acts of good- 
ness and large beneficence which have never failed in 
response to demands from worthy objects. 

In the spring of 1876 was organized at our home, by 
a number of women both patriotic and energetic, the 
Mount Vernon Aid Society, to assist in securing funds for 
much-needed repairs at Mount Vernon. Our board of 
managers soon possessed a list of influential names, 
and the advisory board fairly bristled with amiable 
dignitaries, including Governors Tilden, Morgan, and 
Dix, Mr. William Cullen Bryant, Mr. Schuyler, Presi- 



3o6 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

dent F. A. P. Barnard, of Columbia, Mr. Ruggles, Mr. 
Whitelaw Reid, Mr. Charles A. Dana, Mr. George 
William Curtis, Mr. Joseph H. Choate, and Mr. S. 
L. M. Barlow. 

This array of leaders, each and all of whom swore 
knightly oaths of fealty to the ladies who enlisted them, 
it was tacitly agreed among the managers were not to 
be called upon to appear otherwise than on paper, un- 
less in extraordinary emergency, and we would do the 
rest. 

In the first year was given by amateurs at the Union 
League Theatre an entertainment called the "Frog 
Opera," the initial performance attended by the Em- 
press of Brazil and her suite, then stopping modestly 
at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. To my husband's lot fell 
the duty of escorting her Majesty, and sitting in attend- 
ance upon her all the evening, agreeably engaged in a 
conversation in insufficient French. 

While putting her Majesty into the carriage after 
the performance, a gust of wind caught the good lady's 
knitted head-covering and blew it along Twenty-sixth 
Street, my husband in hot pursuit for a much longer 
period than he quite approved of ! 

We were invited, in recognition of these courtesies, 
to a special audience with their Majesties, finding them 
a very kindly and simple-minded pair. The frogs, 
croaking successfully in their green doublets for three 
evenings, amassed a thousand dollars to send to Mount 
Vernon. The next year our society soared higher, tak- 
ing the Academy of Music and massing one hundred 
amateurs upon the stage in "The Mistletoe Bough." 
From this performance for two nights, we sent away 
four thousand dollars toward the endowment fund at 
Mount Vernon. In the third year of our existence we 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 307 

gave "The Sleeping Beauty," a magnificent production 
of the old fairy tale in pantomime, put into acting shape 
by me in collaboration with Miss Ward, who took the 
leading part of the Princess. This was staged by Mr. 
Leon John Vincent, to the music of" Midsummer Night's 
Dream." It is always what cannot be told of great ama- 
teur entertainments that is most interesting, and we were 
not devoid of some of the usual spicy experiences between 
members of the corps dramatique and committees, and 
the mothers of gnomes and elves, each of whom de- 
manded for her offspring the most conspicuous place in 
fairy-land. But as a whole we came through it in peace 
and good-will with each other, very proud of the sub- 
stantial checks we forwarded to Mount Vernon. 

Sometimes our zeal in contributing to popular funds 
overstepped itself, as in the case of '* The Crescent and 
the Cross," when the proceeds of a ball given by this 
organization were designed to be despatched in equal 
portions to Russian and Turkish sufferers from war. 
Preliminary meetings of the society were held under 
what the newspapers called "the highest auspices," /. e., 
in mansions of Fifth Avenue never opened save to the 
elect of the fashionable world. It must be owned that 
some of these occasions witnessed stormy and irrelevant 
episodes, as when our chairwoman was arraigned by 
the head of one of her committees for saying that before 
the latter lady's marriage to her solvent husband she 
had been poor and unknown, dressing very shabbily. 
The protesting dame wished to take this opportunity 
to say that everybody knew her ancestr}^ whereas that 
of her critic was uncertain, adding, to prove that Worth 
had equipped her in her unmarried state, she was pre- 
pared to show the receipted bills of the great faiseur. 
Tears bedewed the close of the meeting, but peace was 



3o8 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

finally restored. Unfortunately, the funds accruing from 
this enterprise were destined to benefit neither cross 
nor crescent, since the agent trusted with their distri- 
bution is said to have failed to materialize before either 
army; but for the truth of this I cannot vouch. 

I entered into the movement for decorative house- 
hold art handed on to us by the Centennial Exhibition 
in Philadelphia. The early days of that cult in New 
York were fostered by the Society of Decorative Art, 
embracing a number of women distinguished for refined 
taste and liberal opportunity for culture and observation. 
Mrs. Candace Wheeler, later the originator and presid- 
ing spirit of the Society of Associated Artists, lent her 
taste and executive ability to the beginnings of the Dec- 
orative Art Society. Mrs. Custer, the young widow of 
the heroic General Custer of the United States arm}^ 
took, also, an active interest in its councils, and the as- 
sociation soon became a power in New York as well 
in directing household art as in providing for the sale 
of the work of gentlewomen that could not find its way 
into the general market. My contribution during the 
first year was a series of articles written for the Art 
Interchange^ beginning as an organ for the society, later 
becoming a skilfully conducted art journal. These 
articles were collected and published by the Messrs. 
Charles Scribner's Sons, with additional text and many 
beautiful illustrations by leading artists, in a volume 
called "Woman's Handiwork in Modern Homes." 
The extent of my knowledge acquired by diligent 
study and seeing all the rare specimens of embroid- 
ery, needle-work, porcelain, and furnishings brought 
from abroad by private collectors as well as the best- 
known New York dealers, is to me now a matter of 
awesome surprise! I am certain I could not at the 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 309 

present date stand an examination on the contents of 
that book. 

The wave swept on and over us, and under its im- 
petus we had meetings at different houses to study 
stitches and fabrics; we committed to unoffending bur- 
lap and coarse crash marvels of crewel-work, to be 
ultimately consigned to the depths of cedar chests or 
given away to servants contemplating matrimony. I 
had, at my house, a class in china-painting taught by 
Mr. John Bennett, an English artist famed for a beau- 
tiful style of decorated faience. We filled our homes 
with the evil odors of the pigments used, and with speci- 
men plaques, which somehow did not in the least re- 
semble Bennett's, remaining to deck our highest shelves 
and haunt our futures with remorseful penitence. 

Our annual delight was the journey to Lenox, where 
we early contracted the habit of going in summer-time, 
and settling down there for three months, first in a tiny 
cottage on the village street, and later in a pleasant and 
more conventional home. Dr. Holmes once told me we 
had chosen wisely to give our children such surroundings 
in their earliest youth, as Lenox, and afterward Bar 
Harbor. He said: "It is impossible that such beauty 
of landscape should not leave its color on young lives." 
He then talked affectionately of the days of his own 
youth in Berkshire, when he helped his father to plant 
trees around their home at Pittsfield, his father holding 
up the tree in the hole prepared for it, whilst he shovelled 
in the earth. "Those are great trees now," he added, 
with a sigh, "in the prime of life, while I — ! But it 
was a joy to me I never have forgotten!" 

It is hard to say which is the more beautiful season 
at Lenox: the early summer, when the woods gleam 
with the pinky white of mountain laurt ',, and the fields 



310 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

are a solid mass of buttercups and daisies growing knee- 
high and rippled by the wind, or in autumn, when one 
might drive for miles daily, during a month at least, 
through illuminated forest glades and glorious uplands, 
and each day find a new charm of color, scenery, and 
atmosphere differently brought together. Speaking of 
ox-eyed daisies, the farmer is not the only one who finds 
them a pest rather than a beauty in his fields. Mon- 
signor Doane, whom we met at the Robert Olivers' 
merry tea-table, where wit always flew like thistle-down, 
told, apropos of my corsage bouquet of field daisies, 
each with its golden heart, a story of Dr. McCosh, 
of Princeton, who in one of his walks came upon 
a student of the university gathering a bunch of them. 
"What'll you want of those, man?" asked the pro- 
fessor. "Oh! I'm getting them for my mother, sir, 
who is an invalid." "Then it's a tay she'll be making 
of them, for sure," remarked the president, passing on. 
When we first went to Lenox, the lovely hill village 
had not parted with its old-time characteristics of un- 
pretending hospitality. The people who met there, 
summer after summer, were of the cultured and refined 
class of American society, knowing each other inti- 
mately, and satisfied to exchange simple entertainments 
in their pretty, picturesque homes. We had tea-parties 
followed by games of twenty questions, by charades, 
and dumb crambo, where fun and wit were the order 
of the hour. We walked to and from each other's 
houses, attended by maids with lanterns. Every Satur- 
day evening there was a gathering at Sedgwick Hall, 
for dancing and reunion, to which the new-rich magnates 
of New York came as total strangers. Young men 
called for young women to walk to the ledge in the 
Woolsey woods, whither they were seen wending their 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 311 

way, with a cashmere shawl upon the gtntleman's arm 
for the hidy to sit upon, and a blue-and-gold volume of 
some favorite poet in his hand, from which to read se- 
lected passages, under dropping nuts in an amber at- 
mosphere. People met at the post-office after church 
on Sunday, when the elm-shaded street became alive 
with gay faces and graceful figures with attendant cav- 
aliers. On Sunday afternoons we walked up to see Mr. 
Goodman's cows. In the rocking-chairs of the Curtis 
piazzas were discussed all sorts of current subjects, from 
stocks to horses, from domestic to foreign politics, re- 
sumed later by the male participants at the Club in the 
village street. 

I lived there long enough to see a mighty change. 
The rural hill-sides and pastures, bought up at fabulous 
prices, were made the sites of modern villas, most of 
them handsome and in good taste. The villas w^ere 
succeeded by little palaces, some repeating the facades 
and gardens of royal dwellings abroad. Instead of the 
trim maid-servants appearing in caps and aprons to 
open doors, one was confronted by lackeys in livery 
lounging in the halls. Caviare and mousse aiix trujfes 
supplanted muffins and waffles. Worth and Callot 
gowns, cut low and worn with abundant jewels, took 
the place of dainty muslins made by a little day dress- 
maker. Stables were filled with costly horses, farm- 
yards with stock bearing pedigrees sometimes longer 
than that of the owner; the dinner-hour moved on 
to eight o'clock, and lastly came house-parties, " week- 
ends," and the eternal honk and reek of the motor- 
car. An early resident tells me mournfully that all 
the enchanting wood roads of my early memories are 
now oiled for automobiles, the scent quite overpower- 
ing that of uncrumpling ferns and dewy moss as the 



312 RFXOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

smoke-breathing monsters tear through these haunts 
of ancient peace. 

But happily a great many of the old habitues of Lenox 
still resort to their former summer homes, and society 
there retains more of the well-bred ease that comes 
from continuity of common interest in a familiar spot, 
than is perhaps to be seen elsewhere in America. 

In Lenox I wrote for my sons two volumes of fairy 
tales which have had an existence prolonged beyond 
my hope for them. One of these, called "The Old- 
Fashioned Fairy Book,'* was illustrated by my friend 
Miss Rosina Emmet, who came to visit me ostensibly 
that we might work on it together. We set off one after- 
noon in my phaeton drawn by Bishop's mare, a tranquil 
steed warranted to stand till doomsday if her nose were 
pointed toward a tuft of foliage. Somewhere on the 
Lebanon road we halted, tied Bishop, and wandered 
through the woods till we came out upon a ledge having 
a glorious view of distant mountains, verdant intervales, 
and winding river. Each of us sat with pad on knee, 
pencil in hand, back against a tree, rapt in the beauty 
of the scene. 

" What's it to be called ? " finally said the artist, des- 
perately rousing herself from dolce far niente. 

"Oh! I don't know," was the author's lazy answer; 
"say* The Ogress and — the Ogress and the Cook.' 
That'll do as well as anything." 

"What did the ogress do, and what had the cook to 
do with her .?" 

"Haven't the least idea .... Oh! I'll tell you. 
Have her a quite beautiful little cook, a cottage maiden, 
sitting at her door, with the ogress in disguise as a 
poor old woman coming to ask for food. After that 
something will turn up." 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 313 

The result in Miss Emmet's case was a charming 
little vignette. The second fairy-book, entitled, in 
America, *' Bric-a-Brac Tales," in England, "Folk and 
Fairy Tales," was illustrated by Walter Crane with all 
his well-known taste and skill, and the two volumes are 
to-day in the hands of the children of those for whom 
they were penned at Lenox. 

Miss Emma Lazarus, the brilliant young poet, who 
wrote "The Banner of the Jew" and other spirited 
verse embodying championship of her race, was also 
my guest at Lenox, and sometimes in our drives talk 
became so earnest that we would find ourselves halted 
in some grassy wayside nook, the mare's head bent 
down to crop rich clover, while we discussed points 
of mutual interest. Miss Lazarus was the most fem- 
inine of women, but her eager spirit seemed to burn 
like an unfailing lamp, and she could not treat life 
with banality, even in trivial questions. I have sev- 
eral letters from her reverting to this "happy visit" 
in our home. She wrote later, at my solicitation, the 
stanzas entitled "The New Colossus," as her contri- 
bution to an album I brought together to be sold for 
the Bartholdi Pedestal Fund, which I will here insert: 

"Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame 

With conquering limbs astride from land to land. 
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand 
A mighty woman, with a torch, whose flame 
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name 
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon hand 
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command 
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. 

** 'Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!' cries she 
With silent lips. 'Give me your tired, your poor, 
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; 



314 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore — 
Send these, the nameless, tempest-tossed, to me, 
I Hft my lamp beside the golden door!' " 

The circumstances under which these lines were 
written were as follows: Miss Lazarus was calling 
upon me when I begged her to write something for my 
"Portfolio." She declared she could think of nothing 
suitable, was mutinous and inclined to be sarcastic, 
when I reminded her of her visits to the Russian and 
other refugees at Ward's Island, the newly arrived im- 
migrants whose sad lot had so often excited her sym- 
pathy. At once her brow cleared, her eye lightened. 
She became gentle and tender in a moment, and, going 
away, soon after sent me "The New Colossus," printed 
in the official catalogue of a loan collection for the 
same fund, and widely copied and extolled. 

The suggestions of this great loan collection at the 
Academy of Design, from which Mr. F. Hopkinson 
Smith as director was able to turn over to the pedestal 
committee the substantial sum of upward of fourteen 
thousand dollars, came originally from Mr. Montague 
Marks, editor of the Art Amateur, whose letter out- 
lining the scheme I have just reread. By asking per- 
sons whom previous experience had taught me would 
serve both as workers and leaders in such a movement 
to come to my house for discussion of it, the project 
was set afloat. Afterward it expanded into a vast and 
wide-spreading enterprise, to which a large number 
of influential private citizens as well as a long list of 
" litterateurs," artists, collectors, and experts lent their 
aid. 

Personally speaking, Bartholdi's monument came 
very near to being mine. For several weeks I worked 
continuously both as head of the ladies' committee on 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 315 

china, jewelry, costumes, miniatures, lace, embroidery, 
and fans; on the " Portfolio," sold ultimately to Mr. 
Lydig Suydam for fifteen hundred dollars; on the 
executive committee, and in writing the introduction 
to the official catalogue brought together by Mr. A. 
W. Drake. After it was over my husband satirically 
requested me to oblige him by retiring for a while from 
public works. He also said the dainty medallion made 
of the metal of the statue, with a golden coating, and 
sent to me by M. Bartholdi from Paris, accompanied 
by the sculptor's thanks and "hommages respectueux" 
did not entirely requite our household for the wear and 
tear of its domestic peace. 

Already the aspect of New York social life had begun 
to show tokens of coming radical changes. The lines 
of the old regime revealed a certain elasticity toward 
families previously excluded. It is curious to recall 
patronizing sayings, that have stuck in memory, by 
conservatives of the old school concerning some of 
those who have since pushed them to the wall and 
stand before modern eyes as symbols of the high aris- 
tocracy of the metropolis. For my own part, I could 
never see that these arbitrary distinctions of our society, 
the shutting out of one family and snatching another 
to its bosom, had any raison d'etre in a republic. The 
enormous influx of outside wealth brought to New 
York by after-the-war prosperity, started the fashion 
of huge dinners given at Delmonico's and elsewhere, 
where splendor of decoration and extravagance of 
food and wines flashed like electric light before the 
eyes of old-time entertainers. To wonder at these 
novelties was to go and enjoy them. Mrs. Potiphar 
and Mrs. Gnu, of Mr. Curtis's satiric chronicle, w^re 
soon left behind in the race, though we were still 



3i6 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

reminded of these characters at receptions given in 
plain Fifth Avenue establishments with brov^n-stone 
fronts and rather dreadful picture-galleries, where, in 
a glare of gas-hght, we were jostled by hundreds of 
people standing around supper-tables, from which 
floated searching odors of fried oysters served with 
mounds of chicken salad, and accompanied by cham- 
pagne that flowed like water. This ceremony accom- 
plished, and a tour of the rooms made, there was really 
nothing left to do but to begin the mad rush through 
the upstairs dressing-rooms in search of coats and hats 
and take one's leave. 

Generally, the "social events" in question were pre- 
sided over, on the door-step, under the canvas awning, 
by Brown, whose gruff tones in calling and despatching 
carriages mingle with all such recollections of that day. 
His function, when off church duty, was that (wittily 
applied to his son-in-law and successor) of "the con- 
necting link between society and the curb-stone." Pos- 
sessed of native humor and an aggressive spirit, Brown 
became in time very lawless in his methods with his 
employers; always inclined, however, to temper justice 
with mercy in the case of his earlier patrons, the old 
families, whom he considered actually of first impor- 
tance. I remember driving with one of these ladies to 
a reception at a fine new house where Brown stood near 
the carriage door, and greeted us. "Many people here, 
Brown?" asked my friend casually. 

" Too many," was the answer in a sepulchral tone 
tinged with melancholy. " If you ladies will take my 

advice, you'll go on to Mrs. 's. This is mixed, 

very ! 

Once, when we were entering Grace Church to go 
to our pew for Sunday morning service, we passed. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 317 

kneeling in the aisle near the door, his head bent in 
prayer and crossing himself devoutly, an Italian laborer 
in rough garb who had strayed in from Broadway, all 
unconscious of alien faith, to make his devotions. His 
feet, extending behind him, were of extraordinary size, 
clad in cow-skin boots of formidable thickness. Brown, 
nudging my husband in the arm, said in a hoarse 
whisper, with a glance at these appendages: "Them's 
beetle-crushers!" 

But he did not interfere with the suppliant until his 
prayers were done! 

A visiting clergyman who was to occupy the pulpit 
of Grace Church on a Sunday afternoon consulted 
Brown as to the usual length of the sermon on such 
occasions. 

"Well, I should say, sir,'* said the despot, looking 
the stranger over with a cool and critical gaze, "you'd 
better make it twenty minutes; our people won't stand 
much more." 

When we were seeking a house for ourselves, upon 
leaving the apartment. Brown visited my husband in 
his office to offer him his own dwelling, which he was 
anxious to rent. 

"I can only tell you. Colonel Harrison," he said, with 
entire solemnity, "that it suits me exactly. It's a per- 
fect bejoo." 

We did not avail ourselves of this privilege, and I 
never heard who occupied the bijou, which I have no 
doubt was a comfortable residence. Brown's peculiar 
relation to things social, and his intelligence and judg- 
ment about people, caused the wits of the time to attrib- 
ute to him the possession of a list of "dancing young 
men," of respectable connections, upon which hostesses 
not well established in New York would draw for the 



3i8 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

uses of their balls. But of the existence of the so-called 
"Brown's brigade" I am not qualified to speak. The 
man was certainly an unique figure in the middle-age of 
New York, who, although his functions have since been 
ably filled by members of his family, could not be seen 
again in its present vast community. 

Somewhere in the seventies appeared, and was re- 
ceived in good houses, a certain "Count Henri de 
Tourville," who, for a season, disported himself as a 
French nobleman of wealth and distinction. Such an 
event would be impossible now, since not only is the 
world much smaller, but people are wary and do not as 
a rule shed hospitaHty broadcast upon adventurers. 
Together with a large number of our friends, I attended 
a famous dinner at Delmonico's, given by the count, 
of which the wonders of live singing birds in branches 
suspended over the tables, a lake in the centre with 
(drugged) live swans, and masses of gorgeous flowers 
everywhere remain in memory. My husband, who 
was in Europe on business at the time, took care to say, 
when the sequel came, that, had he been at home, his 
wife would not have been numbered among the guests. 
But all the same his wife had many companions in mis- 
fortune when, later on, we heard of our florid and re- 
splendent host's subsequent adventures. De Tourville, 
proceeding from New York to London, there wooed 
and won a wealthy but homely bride, took her on a 
honey-moon journey to the Tyrol, and, after a fierce 
quarrel, ended by pushing her over a precipice, at the 
foot of which she was found dead by the people of their 
hotel. Tried for her murder, De Tourville was con- 
victed and sentenced to Hfe imprisonment in a gloomy 
fortress in Germany, where, long years afterward, 1 
read in a foreign journal, he was still living, incarcerated. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 319 

Whether he was a "real count" or not I never heard, 
but, although the aristocracy are perhaps in nowise 
superior to commoners in the matter of getting rid of 
inconvenient life partners, I have always had my sus- 
picions about his title since the day I partook of the 
*'Comte" de Tourville's bread and salt at the Delmon- 
ico banquet. 

Were we simpler-minded in those far-off days, that 
an evening at the play was an " event," from which we 
came away happier and more healthily excited than 
from the melancholy, morbid dramas of the present ? 
To the then Fifth Avenue Theatre, upon the site of old 
Apollo Hall, for four years under the direction of 
Augustin Daly, until it burned down in 1881, we went 
to applaud beautiful Mary Anderson in her statuesque 
poses, the youthful Modjeska in her lovely and stirring 
impersonations, and later on the wholesome and joy- 
ous diversion of Gilbert and Sullivan's "Mikado." 

On the corner of Twenty-third Street and Sixth Ave- 
nue arose the fine Renaissance structure of Booth's 
Theatre, which we considered the last word in luxury 
and elegance as a playhouse. Out of mists like those 
that wreathed the Brocken, I seem to see arising suc- 
cessively Booth and Barrett in "Julius Caesar"; exquisite 
Adelaide Neilson leaning from Juliet's balcony to be 
wooed by handsome Harry Montague; George Ringgold 
superbly sitting Henry V's battle-charger, surrounded 
by a victorious army mingling lances and banners 
around his manly form; Sarah Bernhardt, slim and 
silver-voiced, as Dofia Sol, weaving spells around Her- 
nani — and again as Adrienne Lecouvreur; noble Ed- 
win Booth over and again in all his varied roles — 
surely we have nothing better in this present year of 
grace! 



320 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

And don't I remember, earlier still, going to the 
Fourteenth Street Theatre, once called the Theatre 
Fran^ais, to sit spellbound while Adelaide Ristori swept 
across the stage as Marie Stuart or gazed at us with 
the woe-smitten eyes of Marie Antoinette on her way 
to execution ? There, too, we saw Fechter sustain, 
with irresistible verve, the parts in his romantic dramas 
that stirred the blood from start to finish of the play. 
There, too. La Grande Duchesse first strutted and 
rollicked on the American stage, and merry, audacious, 
captivating Tostee appeared in "La Belle Helene" ! 

And Wallack's Theatre, at Broadway and Thirteenth 
Street, after 1883 known as The Star! What a splen- 
did company trod its boards for a score of years! 
Fisher, Smith, Gilbert, Sefton, Davenport, Stoddart, 
Boucicault, Coghlan, Lester Wallack above all, in the 
standard dramas and interesting plays now vanished 
into the limbo of lost things along with their genial in- 
terpreters. There it was that Henry Irving made his 
American debut as Matthias in "The Bells," in 1883, 
appearing afterward in the rose-and-gold brocade dress- 
ing-gown of Doricourt in "The Belle's Stratagem." 

Next in favor was the Union Square, where the tear- 
bedewed "Two Orphans" and "Miss Multon" ran 
their unending course with gifted Clara Morris, and 
Mansfield in "A Parisian Romance" never failed to 
satisfy the crowds. 

In Palmer's Theatre, at Broadway and Thirtieth 
Street, the bright star of Lester Wallack arose again 
to sparkle with undiminished vigor; and what would 
not one give now for a ticket to see "The School for 
Scandal" with the same eyes that looked upon the per- 
formance of 1882, when Gilbert, Edwards, Tearle, 
Gerald Eyre, Rose Coghlan, Madame Ponisi, and Stella 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 321 

Boniface carried the old comedy to a triumphant finish 
night after night ? 

There, also, Salvini as Samson, and Richard Mans- 
field as Richard III, and for a while Coquelin and 
Hading, reigned supreme in the attractions of the town. 

To Daly's many people pinned their faith as the 
chief theatre for refined audiences to go to with a 
surety of always meeting the best players in the best 
plays. One need no more than recall its exquisite pre- 
sentments of Shakespearian comedies and successful 
adaptations from foreign sources by Augustin Daly, 
into which the talent of Miss Rehan and Mr. Drew 
threw vivid life. All middle-aged New York remem- 
bers and was proud of them! 

I recall a performance of "The Critic" somewhere, 
which kept the audience in a ripple of incessant laugh- 
ter occasionally merging into a roar. Who laughs in 
that way now ? And how we went from one normal 
emotion to another while Boucicault played in the 
" Shaughraun "! And who wasn't made brighter and 
cheerfuller for the next day's toil of life for listening 
to one of Robertson's comedies, just as, later on, w^e 
felt after Pinero's "Sweet Lavender" at Mr. Frohman's 
Lyceum Theatre .? 

Yes, I maintain it, theatre-going was a better busi- 
ness then, better for the nerves, the spirits, and the 
digestion, than now, when problem plays and analyses 
of degenerate character send us home dejected to our 
beds. And oh! for Gilbert and Sullivan, in lieu of 
some of these boneless, fibreless "musical comedies'* 
where masculine horse-play alternates with the gym- 
nastics of prancing females, and the music tinkles on 
and on, touching never a chord of human feeling! 

It has often struck me with a certain surprise that 



322 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

with all the good, refined, and estimable women we 
have seen upon our stage in New York there has been 
so little seen of them, comparatively speaking, in the life 
of our drawing-rooms, unlike London, where the actress 
of character and position is cordially welcomed every- 
where. But New York has shown little of the catholic- 
ity and independence of London concerning the relation 
of all arts to society. It has been suggested that old 
New York was too puritanical, modern New York is 
too uncertain of itself. In recalling the queens of the 
stage whom one has heard of, or met at the private 
functions of so-called high society in America, the chief 
among them in by-gone years seem to be Mrs. Frances 
Kemble Butler and Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt Ritchie. 
Mrs. Butler had been the honored guest of half the 
aristocracy of England before she married a Georgian 
gentleman and came to the States to divide her days 
between staid Philadelphia, what she considered the 
barbarism of a rice plantation full of slaves, and the 
more congenial atmosphere of Lenox, where she owned 
a house. 

Lenox, when I first went there, was full of stories 
of this brilliant, masterful lady (who wrote of herself, 
"You know, my dear, suddenness is the curse of my 
nature") both in her own abode and as a frequenter 
of Curtis's Hotel, described by her as "having a sort of 
blossoming season with sweet handsome young faces 
shining about it in every direction " — a condition of 
things continuing to the present day! 

Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt, of a good old family of 
New York, married Mr. Ritchie, of Richmond, where 
I, when a school-girl, visited her in a quaint little cottage 
sort of house set in a green garden, and she excited my 
imagination by reciting Shakespeare beautifully and 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 323 

telling me delightful stories of her life upon the stage. 
She made quite a favorite of me, and I thought her 
fascinating, but I had, even then, an idea that she was 
not happy settled dov^n as a wife and housekeeper, and 
that one could not serve the two masters. Art and 
Domesticity. 

Adelaide Ristori was the heroine of the hour in my 
first days in New York. I saw her first in "Marie 
Antoinette," and in her other roles later, and her ex- 
traordinary talent on the stage, joined to her all-per- 
vading common-sense and love of her family, rather dis- 
proved my conception expressed above. She was about 
fifty when she came to America, and looked very much 
younger. As the Marchioness del Grillo Capricani she 
was invited a great deal to the best houses. At one 
of the Roosevelt balls Madame Ristori, beautifully 
gowned, sat in the cotillon, and danced whenever taken 
out. 

Sarah Bernhardt I never met socially. When she 
played Dona Sol in " Hernani," at Booth's Theatre, she 
was quite painfully thin and far from beautiful. ("A 
Dog and His Bone " was the name given by some French 
wit to her portrait in the Salon in which was introduced 
that of her canine pet of the hour.) But when one 
heard her voice of gold in Victor Hugo's ringing verse, 
one criticised nothing, but simply bowed down before 
her genius. 

Adelina Patti had been in her youth, in the South and 
elsewhere in America, a darling of the social world. 
When she returned here after her separation from her 
first husband, the Marquis de Caux, the dandy equerry 
and cotillon leader of the Tuileries, and was known to 
have formed a new alliance with Nicolini, the tenor 
singer, whose wife still lived, New York, which rarely 



324 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

condones an offence of this variety, failed to invite or 
receive in private the world-famed diva. 

Christine Nilsson, as I have said, v^^as, when a young 
woman, rapturously sought by entertainers. She was 
the centre of a group of girls and youthful matrons who 
haunted her rooms at her hotel, and could not make 
enough of the exquisite Mignon and Marguerite of the 
Academy of Music performances. 

Miss Clara Louise Kellogg, a most lovely singer, was 
also much feted in New York drawing-rooms. Parepa- 
Rosa, large, stately, and dignified, attended by her 
diminutive husband, Carl Rosa, the eminent violinist, 
commanded always a place in the homes of those who 
applauded her on the stage. 

Madame Modjeska, as noble-looking and full of gra- 
cious womanhood behind the scenes as before them, we 
met first at the house of our friends the Richard Watson 
Gilders, where on their Friday evenings at home one 
was always sure to encounter the'Messus du panier'* 
of the literary and artistic world. There, also, I first 
heard Adele aus der Ohe witch magic music from piano 
keys! 

I find, in my correspondence, notes from Modjeska 
and Count Bozenta concerning letters of introduction 
we had offered to give them in New Orleans, where she 
charmed those who encountered her in private life 
to the full as much as when they sat spellbound before 
her lovely impersonations. 

I first met Ellen Terry at the house of Mr. Parke 
Godwin, son-in-law of William Cullen Bryant, at an 
evening party. Miss Terry was simply radiant in face 
and voice and manner, an irresistible being on the 
stage and off of it. Mrs. Lemoyne had just recited for 
Irving and herself the spirited poem of "Kentucky 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 325 

Belle," Miss Terry yielding to her the tribute of a gen- 
tle rain of tears. One reads of a certain Miss Sophy 
Streatfield, a friend of Dr. Johnson's, to whom her 
friends would say, "Cry, pretty Sophy, cry," when she 
immediately responded by an overflow of weeping in 
which she looked prettier than before. Miss Terry 
must have been the only other living person to whom 
tears were becoming. 

We were sitting apart, a little group of women, of 
whom one cried out, "Oh! I am ashamed of myself. I 
have such a bad habit — that of sitting on my foot!" 

"Have you.?" cried Miss Terry joyously. "I've 
always done so, and often on the stage. It lends one 
such height and dignity; don't you think so ^. And as 
to not being able to manage it gracefully, just see here!" 
And she rose and resettled herself with the perfect 
ease and distinction of a swan returning to its nest, 
amid laughing applause from us. 

One more souvenir of Miss Terry of a later date. In 
1 903, when Mrs. Minnie Maddern Fiske had in rehearsal 
a play of mine, "The Unwelcome Mrs. Hatch," at Mr. 
Fiske's Manhattan Theatre, I was startled by her bring- 
ing Miss Terry into the box, where I sat alone in the 
gloom of the big empty playhouse, to look on with 
me at the progress of affairs. I felt sure that the 
famous actress would be horribly bored, and was 
assailed by many fears. But the clever band of la- 
dies and gentlemen whom I was fortunate enough 
to have as interpreters of my "Drama of Every Day" 
must have had some idea of the presence of their distin- 
guished auditor, and did their best to carry off the mo- 
notony of a rehearsal, which Miss Terry followed with 
a patience, courtesy, and lightning-like intelligence of 
apprehension astonishing to me. In one scene where 



326 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

a number of young girls hover around the wedding- 
gifts of a bride to be, she clapped her hands, exclaim- 
ing, "That's pretty, pretty! They're like a flock of 
butterflies." 

Mrs. Fiske's part she, of course, commended as it 
deserved, for absolute naturalness and convincing sim- 
plicity, underlaid with the great artist's true skill and 
knowledge. Miss Terry said that day she had just 
refused Sir Henry Irving's request for her to play Mar- 
guerite in his revival of "Faust." "I told him to think 
of our combined ages in an attempt to render this in- 
terpretation of the passions of glowing youth!" Her 
laughter rang out so merrily, her appearance and man- 
ner were so charmingly girlish, it was hard to accept 
her version of the reason for her decision. 

Mrs. Fiske, in her dignity of character, high devo- 
tion to her art, and ruling intellectuahty, could always 
have claimed and held any place she desired in the 
better society of New York. But there was never a 
moment, save during her periods of country rest, when 
her life was not given over to study of her parts and 
discussion of the various productions in her husband's 
theatres and elsewhere. My intercourse with her dur- 
ing the preliminaries of the play mentioned, which 
she gave at the Manhattan during the winter season 
of 1901-02, and carried afterward on tour, was uni- 
formly agreeable and illumining. I shall never forget 
those mornings, in my own library or in her dressing- 
room at the theatre (a dainty place, indicative of its 
owner's refined nature, utterly foreign to my precon- 
ceived ideas), going over the play step by step, she read- 
ing, I interrupting with requests to "stop just there, 
please." "We'll leave out half that speech," etc., etc. 
Once, when we had extensively blue-pencilled a scene. 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 327 

Mrs. Fiske looked at me with a merry smile, saying: 
"The Lord loveth a cheerful cutter!" 

She introduced me to the mystery of "club sand- 
wiches," which, with tea, were brought in from a neigh- 
boring restaurant, serving us for luncheon after hours 
of strenuous work. Her notes to me during this time 
were charming, with a distinct literary flavor, touching 
upon authors and playwrights in many countries, and 
themes other than those of our common interests. I 
have always wished that Mrs. Fiske had given us in her 
repertoire more pure comedy, for which I am sure she 
possesses as high a gift as for the emotional roles and 
analytical studies of woman's nature she has made re- 
nowned. 

Miss Georgia Cayvan, of the Lyceum Theatre, was 
a charming, frank young woman whose talent as an 
actress delighted many audiences. Once, when con- 
ducting an amateur performance for charity of Octave 
Feuillet's "Portraits of the Marquise" at the Madison 
Square Theatre, lent to us for the purpose by its pro- 
prietors, the Rev. Dr. Mallory, and his brother, Mr, 
Marshall Mallory, one of the usual calamities of such 
enterprises overtook me. At the eleventh hour, Miss 
Justine Ingersoll, of New Maven, who was to play 
Lisette, a waiting-maid with a small but sprightly part, 
had to withdraw, owing to the death of a relative. In 
despair I appealed to Mr. Daniel Frohman to come to 
my assistance, and to my surprise Miss Cayvan volun- 
teered to fill the part. She came among us with much 
simplicity and grace, played Lisette at two matinees, 
refused all emolument for her services, and said she was 
amply repaid by the remembrance of "that brief happy 
little time when I was an amateur!" Her sad fate in 
being overtaken by insanity in the full flush of her 



328 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

career, dying soon after in a sanitarium, will be re- 
membered and deplored. The little play in which Miss 
Cayvan assisted was a powder-and-pufF comedy, writ- 
ten by Feuillet for the Empress Eugenie's private theat- 
ricals at Compiegne, in which her majesty took the 
leading woman's part. After using my translation sev- 
eral times for charity, I sent some newspaper notices of 
the performances to the author, with explanations, re- 
ceiving in return the following note: 

" Madame: I am deeply touched by your kind letter, 
and have read with interest the newspaper cuttings you 
were good enough to add. I am very happy that my 
works — even the lightest among them — should be re- 
ceived with such gracious welcome in your great coun- 
try by the elite of American society. You will add 
greatly to my gratitude, madame, by consenting to send 
me a copy of your translation of 'The Portraits of the 
Marquise.' Accept I beg of you, with my cordial 
thanks, the homage of my respectful and sympathetic 
devotion. 

"Octave Feuillet. 
"Paris, December 7, 1883. 

" Rue de Tourneau, 8." 

Of course I sent my translation, but equally " of 
course" I was sure the gallant author never read it. 

My strong bias toward the stage and all belonging 
to it, although kept in check by circumstance, could 
not resist dalliance with plays, mostly adaptations and 
translations from French originals, sayinetes and mono- 
logues, given by both amateurs and professionals all 
over the country. In justification of my work in this 
direction, I may venture, perhaps, to quote from the 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 329 

notice of my " Short Comedies," gathered into a volume, 
in one of the critical journals of the day: 

"How many persons can touch and translate a 
French comedy without extracting from it its perfume, 
its gaiety, its trembling accent of vitality, its volatile 
essences and airinesses. Here she is particularly skil- 
ful. In the five brief comedies before us, she has laid 
the lightest hand imaginable on the French originals, 
and whisked them into English as deftly as a French 
cook turns an omelette. If one must 'adapt ' and ' ar- 
range,' it is to be hoped that it will be in such 'harmo- 
nies' and 'nocturnes' as these, which are Whistler-like 
in their dexterity of touch and color, and mirth-provok- 
ing in their keenness and fun." 

The most ambitious of my attempts in this direction 
had been a two-act comedy from the French of Scribe 
and Legouve, put into English with rather a free hand, 
scattered with phrases and speeches of my own as well 
as quaint Russian proverbs culled from many sources. 
This version, first given by amateurs for a local charity 
at Sedgwick Hall, in Lenox, was interpreted by Mrs. 
James Brown Potter, Mrs. Walter Scott Andrews, Miss 
Craven, Mr. Henry Chauncey, Mr. Alexander Mason, 
Mr. Andrews, and an assortment of good-looking and 
too-well-dressed Russian peasants drawn from the ranks 
of society around us. 

Stopping at our house as guests, to remain over the 
performance, were the star, Mrs. Potter, and her little 
girl, and Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt. The 
day of the performance it was discovered by the stage- 
manager that we had no "snow" for the scene in which 
Poleska makes her appearance in Ivan's hut, and all 
of my house-party forthwith set to work helping to cut 
strips of paper into the requisite small particles to be 



330 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

shed from above the stage, and a merry task we made 
of it. 

The little play took our audience promptly, and was 
repeated, for charity, at the Madison Square Theatre 
in New York, after we all went back to town. 

Mr. Marshall Mallory came to see me, proposing to 
me to enlarge the play to three acts for the professional 
stage. I did my best with it, and *'A Russian Honey- 
moon" was accordingly put into rehearsal by the Mad- 
ison Square Company, and brought out in the spring 
with beautiful scenery and costumes. In the cast were 
Mrs. Agnes Booth, as Poleska; Miss Ada Dyas, as the 
Baroness; Miss Estelle Clayton, as Micheline; Mr. 
Frederick Bryton, as Alexis; Mr. William J. Lemoyne, 
who made a remarkable character sketch of the part of 
Ivan the Cobbler; and Mr. Max Freeman, a most clever 
KoulikofF, with Mr. Edwin Arden as Osip. 

The occasion was noted as being the first time when 
any flash-light picture of the stage was taken, at mid- 
night, following the performance, and Mr. Daniel Froh- 
man, the manager of the theatre, was seen as one of the 
guards crossing bayonets to keep the fond Alexis from 
returning to his Poleska. 

While we were preparing this piece for the stage, I had 
spent much time in the Historical and other libraries 
looking up Russian prints, and reading translations of 
Russian books. For a wedding procession with which 
Mr. David Belasco, then stage-manager of the Madison 
Square Theatre, designed to adorn the opening scene, 
I found what I took to be a very quaint and character- 
istic wedding veil hung from a framework extending 
around the bride's head, of which I made a sketch and 
submitted it without having the legend underneath the 
print translated. We found out that this was a mos- 



RFXOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 331 

quito net worn in some of the northerly districts of 
Russia, in time to save ourselves from decorating with 
it the peasant bride in our play. When my husband, 
my son, and I were once walking from a railway station 
in the land of the midnight sun, where we had found no 
vehicle, we encountered a band of "summer boarders," 
wearing these curious appliances, and I fell into laughter 
at thought of our "Russian Honeymoon," but in the 
dense cloud of mosquitoes that swarmed around us soon 
realized the need of this accessory. 

As the time drew near for the production of my 
first piece by professionals, my whole thoughts were 
naturally absorbed by it. The season being Lent, 
I resolved to punish myself by extra attendance at 
week-day services, during which I would try to put the 
Madison Square Theatre and all its works resolutely 
out of my mind. Alas! when for this purpose I took 
possession of our pew in Calvary Church, I heard 
"Dearly beloved brethren" in a familiar voice, and 
there in the reading-desk was the Rev. Dr. Mallory, 
with whom, in his brother's office at the theatre the day 
before, I had been consulting long and earnestly about 
the play! Dr. Mallory was also the editor of the 
Churchman, and a very able exponent, in print, of 
diocesan affairs. 

I found my relations with Mrs. Booth very pleasant, 
although confined altogether to our meetings at re- 
hearsal. I admired and respected her as an artist of 
real ability. Miss Dyas, more of a woman of the 
world, and always a charming actress, had been en- 
gaged by the management to fill the part of the world- 
weary, capricious, yet good-hearted Baronne, which she 
did to perfection. 

That little play, "A Russian Honeymoon," proved to 



332 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

be an extraordinary money-getter, given with my per- 
mission, by amateurs all over the country for local 
charities. After its professional run at the Madison 
Square Theatre, it was taken on a six weeks' tour 
through New England by professionals. Reproduced 
by our New York amateurs at the Madison Square for 
the Rev. Dr. Rainsford's Boys' Club of St. George's 
Church, the play may have been said to have had the 
benefit of clergy from start to finish. 

Mrs. Brown Potter, then in the height of her re- 
markable beauty and personal charm, was the Poleska, 
Mrs. Walter Scott Andrews, an 'almost professional' 
Baronne, Mr. Edward Fales Coward, our cleverest 
amateur, the Alexis, Mr, Prescott Hall Butler, the 
KoulikoflF, and Mr. Bedlow, of Newport, the Ivan. 

Played again in Brooklyn, in February, 1886, it 
appeared at the National Theatre, in Washington, for 
the Mount Vernon Endowment Fund, I was then the 
guest of Mrs, Macalester Laughton, one of the regents 
of Mount Vernon, and Mrs. Potter visited Mr. and Mrs. 
William C. Whitney, while nothing could exceed the 
hospitality of Washington in general to our amateur 
Thespians. 

Mrs. Leiter gave for me a large luncheon, at which 
Miss Rose Elizabeth Cleveland, then lady of the White 
House, was present, and many another political and 
diplomatic star in feminine society. 

After this the Httle piece kept on appearing at inter- 
vals in all sorts of unexpected places. Colleges, schools, 
amateur clubs everywhere asked for it, and it rolled in 
money for charities at quite a tremendous rate. 

Omitting the royalties of "A Russian Honeymoon" 
paid to me for its professional performances, and in- 
cluding those of other plays and entertainments per- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 333 

son ally devised and carried out under my direction, I 
had the pleasure of distributing to worthy funds and 
charities, during that time of enthusiasm and energy in 
dramatic undertaking, the sum of thirty-two thousand 
one hundred and fifty dollars. And what I think 
more entitled to be written down was that our ama- 
teurs held harmoniously together, putting honest hard 
work, and in some cases distinct talent, into their en- 
deavors, producing on the whole entertainments that 
would have been creditable to the stage in the Rosina 
Yokes style of light and graceful comedy. The news- 
papers took us quite seriously, giving capital notices 
as a rule. It is, however, due to Mr. David Belasco 
to say that the largest portion of our success was owing 
to his training and extraordinary skill in devising pict- 
ures and effects from material that lent itself readily to 
lovely grouping and vivid color. 

One of the memorable occasions when this order 
was reversed and the stage invaded society was the 
meeting of the Thursday Evening Club at Mrs. C. 
Vanderbilt's, where the Coquelins, pere et fils, were the 
attraction. There was a great gathering of eager peo- 
ple, the streets blocked with carriages in line for some 
distance from the house. The first choice of the great 
Coquelin for his programme was Daudet's exquisite 
" Monsieur le Sous Prefer aux champs," from " Lettres 
de Mon Moulin" (of which I had made a rhythmical 
version in English a year before, and sent it to the Even- 
ing Posty the editor writing me they would publish it 
with pleasure; but I never saw it more). Every line of 
the original is as dainty and delicate as maidenhair fern, 
and it has the same odor of the woods. Coquelin re- 
cited it, con amore, giving next "Le Naufrage," a har- 
rowing tale of a shipwrecked man alone on a raft with 



334 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

his clog, who goes mad, so that the master is forced to 
kill his only comrade. Farcical monologues followed; 
excellent fooling in the funeral oration pronounced upon 
his spouse by "Monsieur Bourgeois," who, from weep- 
ing, passes through every stage of mitigated woe into 
the broad arena of rejoicing in freedom and the opening 
paradise of a vie de garfon. Next we had a take-ofF of 
an English tourist in Paris; and then the piece of resist- 
ance of the evening — a scene from the "Mariage Force" 
of Moliere between the two Coquelins. 

Here the imprisoned genius of pure comedy burst its 
bonds and soared away over the heads of the jewelled 
conventional crowd of not all understanding people. 
I sat near enough not to lose a fleeting shadow or a 
glimpsing light upon the grotesque mask and to catch 
every syllable of his speech. On that tiny stage in the 
Vanderbilt ballroom, he was like a giant sporting alone 
upon a little hill. 

A day or two later I met the great mime at an after- 
noon party in Miss Elisabeth Bisland's flat, where, 
amid red roses stuck everywhere into blue jars, a hand- 
ful of appreciative people gathered at the bidding of 
the clever, tactful young hostess. (There it was on an- 
other day that I met, for the only time, the man who 
has put the very soul of Japan into glowing English 
prose — Lafcadio Hearn!) The Lemoynes, gifted hus- 
band and gifted wife, came in, and Mr. John Drew, of 
Daly's Theatre. Mrs. Pemberton Hincks, of New Or- 
leans, sang the best of her Creole songs, then Sarah 
Lemoyne recited her inimitable "Mrs. Maloney on the 
Chinese Question." Coquelin, squeezed between me 
and another woman on a little sofa, encouraged me to 
give him a brief synopsis of the piece in French, quite 
unnecessary, it appeared, since he took it all in by the 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 335 

pores, understanding no word of the broad Irish, of 
course, but nodding approval and wrinkHng his face 
with smiles at every cHmax! He led the applause with 
great resounding claps in the hollows of his hands, and 
told me he considered Mrs. Lemoyne "admirable'* 
"tellement sympathique," with a "vraie figure de thea- 
tre," commenting on the cleverness of her nasal intona- 
tions in an excess of excitement. 

I told Coquelin how "Monsieur le Sous Prefet" had 
charmed me at the Thursday Evening Club. He said 
it was one of his own great favorites. He then told for 
us the deliciously droll story I had heard from him be- 
fore about "The Butterfly and the Fountain.'* "Jolie 
nouvelle, originelle, dramatique, n'estce pas .^ Eh! bien, 
ce roman c'est de moi." His solemn, self-satisfied, halt- 
ing, hobbling Englishman was perfect. 

He told me it was astonishing how his American 
audiences had come to know him and respond to him 
since his first visit in the autumn. Now he believed 
them to be "veritables bons amis.'* 

We saw Coquelin in "Le Juif Polonais," at this 
time an interesting contrast to Henry Irving in "The 
Bells." In April we attended a meeting of the Nine- 
teenth Century Club, held at the American art galleries, 
where Coquelin read a paper on "Moliere and Shake- 
speare" — a very carefully prepared, analytical study of 
the two playwrights, showing a complete knowledge 
of Shakespeare's works and characters. He read it, 
sitting, with much effect — a few witty sallies to begin, 
but afterward settling into harness with a keen, well- 
digested argument. General Horace Porter followed 
in some drolleries spoken in French with the strongest 
American accent I ever heard. Then Mr. Coudert spoke 
also in French — a pretty, graceful, telling speech, laud- 



336 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

ing Shakespeare, rallying first, then praising Coquelin 
to his heart's content. Every one crowded around the 
guest of the evening afterward. When it came to my 
turn I said: "Bonsoir, Monsieur le Sous Prefet," and 
the gleam of his eye showed instant recollection. 

All this took place in a gallery hung around with 
gloomy old Spanish masters of the Due de Durcal 
collection sent over to be sold in New York. 

Sir Henry Irving was at all times persona grata in 
New York. But, as I said before, save as a means of 
entertaining guests, the smart set never seemed to wel- 
come even the fixed stars of the dramatic firmament into 
their homes, as the people of equivalent position so 
gladly do in London and Paris. Fortunately, there has 
always been existent in New York a larger, broader- 
visioned " set," devotees of literature, art, music, and the 
drama, who have more than made good the omission. 



CHAPTER XV 

IT has been hinted by disaffected people that the 
originator of authors' readings from their own 
works has much to answer for; and so timorously 
I admit having devised for the benefit of the American 
Copyright League, then in strong need of funds for the 
prosecution of their cause, the first entertainment of 
this nature formally given in New York. The appeal 
made to me by the secretary of the association, Mr. 
George Parsons Lathrop, resulted in a meeting of their 
body at our home to discuss the advisability of two 
afternoons of "Authors' Readings," at the Madison 
Square Theatre, promised by the Messrs. Mallory should 
the idea take practical shape. 

So general the attendance at this meeting, our chairs 
were exhausted, and after every one of his confreres 
was seated, Mr. Lathrop, unobserved by his hostess, 
went behind a screen and drew out a venerable ances- 
tral chair from Virginia, invalided through age and 
condemned to retire from active service ere calamity 
occurred. It was too bad that the proceedings of this 
dignified assemblage should have been inaugurated by 
the immediate crash of their honorable secretary to 
the floor amid the wreck of a Virginian heirloom, but 
the hilarity ensuing, together with Mr. Lathrop's ami- 
able acceptance of our apologies, did not affect subse- 
quent proceedings unfavorably. 

The plan was developed. A committee of ladies sold 



338 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

the tickets that brought together two splendid audiences. 
Mr. George William Curtis, always a drawing card in 
New York, opened the first day with a few pleasant 
remarks. Professor Charles Carroll read a poem sent 
by Dr. Holmes ; Mr. Howells and Mr. Julian Haw- 
thorne followed with selections from their own writings. 
Professor Boyesen, Mr. H. C. Bunner, Mr. F. Hopkin- 
son Smith, and Mr. Charles Dudley Warner made up 
the remainder of the programme with appropriate con- 
tributions. 

The next day, some call having been made for women 
authors to aid in swelling the rather melancholy group 
upon the stage, a number of us took heart of grace 
to occupy seats in the rear. When the curtain rose, 
and the Right Reverend the Bishop of New York 
stepped to the front, v\^ith all his accustomed grace, and 
began by a charming little tribute to the ladies, "our 
co-authors and workers in this field who have honored us 
by appearing on the stage to-day," a laugh ran through 
the audience, and the bishop, looking behind him, dis- 
covered not a single woman remaining in her place! 
Just before the curtain went up we had simultaneously 
arisen and stolen behind the scenes. Some people 
averred it was through stage-fright, but one honest 
wcrman declared we had thought of how dreadful the 
men had looked behind the foot-lights the previous 
day, and actually dared not face them. 

Mr. John Boyle O'Reilly, Mr. Howells, Mr. Stockton, 
Mr. Clemens, Mr. Lathrop, and Dr. Eggleston were 
the contributors on this day, but the most dramatic 
effect of all was produced by the Rev. Henry Ward 
Beecher, whose story from his " Star Papers," of a street 
waif stretching a hand through the railings around 
Grace Church, in Broadway, to pick the first dande- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 339 

lion of spring, was a masterpiece of delivery — his voice 
literally playing upon the heart-strings of his audience. 

Mrs. L. W. Champney told an anecdote before the 
Woman's Club of Sorosis of her being invited to be 
present at the Author's Club to discuss the question 
of the new copyright bill, its coffers now enriched by 
some two thousand five hundred dollars as a result of 
these two readings. There was a pouring rain, and 
like a wise virgin she donned water-proof and goloshes, 
and sought the place appointed. A rather astonished 
servant admitted her, and when she reached the club- 
room she was received with cordial greeting. Charles 
Dudley Warner removed her dripping water-proof, and 
Mr. Howells took charge of her more dripping umbrella, 
while a third chivalrous author of note went down on 
his knees to take off her goloshes. She was the only 
woman there! Much embarrassed and flustered, Mrs. 
Champney took her seat and tried to compose herself, 
but in vain. Presently, in came Mrs. Burton Harrison, 
serene and composed, who sat down beside her smil- 
ingly, and told how she had asked the aged negro at the 
door if there were any ladies present, and was answered: 
*'Yes ma'am. She's upstairs!" "Out of the agitation 
of that rainy day's discussion of the copyright laws,'* 
added Mrs. Champney, "the new bill was formed and 
made a law." 

I remember this circumstance, and that I ever after 
associated the copyright bill with the smell of damp 
India-rubber drying in a hot room. 

The kind reception of these two entertainments sug- 
gested to me something of the same order, to be given 
by invitation to our house, of as many guests as we could 
accommodate for an evening party. It was embodied 
in a single issue of "a journal of a night," called The 



340 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Ephemeron, not printed, but read aloud by the edi- 
torial staff and contributors. These last were selected 
from among my literary friends, and the table of con- 
tents follows: 

Introductory The Editor. 

Telegraphic Reports .... J. Brander Matthews. 

Reporter's Note Book .... Frederick W. Whitridge. 

Song, "After Sorrow's Night" . R. W. Gilder. 

A Literary Malaprop . ... The Editor. 

Day Lilies Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

Two Sonnets Emma Lazarus. 

The Shy Man at a Musical Party M. E. W. Sherwood. 

A Porcelain Pug Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

The Dude James B. Townsend. 

Miss Pinky Rosebud on Coedu- 
cation F. Benedict Herzog. 

A Shingle Girl WilHam Henry Bishop. 

Opals George Parsons Lathrop. 

May Day ... .... Dora Goodale. 

Two years later, in a more capacious house to which 
we had removed at 83 Irving Place — still looking into 
the green precincts of Gramercy Park, although on the 
other side — I repeated The Ephemeron when it became 
our turn to receive the Thursday Evening Club. On 
this occasion my associate editors were Bishop Potter 
and Judge Rowland, while to Professor Charles Carroll, 
of the New York University, and the silver-tongued 
Mr. Daniel Dougherty fell the reading of articles by 
authors too shy to interpret their own productions. 

What was lacking in the text of The Ephemeron 
was spoken by my witty and scholarly coadjutors. We 
had Bishop Potter's "Dream of the Thursday Evening 
Club of the Future"; advance sheets of poems and 
sketches sent me by the editors of the Century, the 
Atlantic Monthly, St. Nicholas, and the Critic; a chapter 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 341 

of a new novel by Mr. Frank R. Stockton, read by the 
author, sent with the compliments of Mr. Thomas 
Bailey Aldrich, of the Atlantic Monthly; two poems 
from Mr. Richard Watson Gilder; stories read by Mr. 
Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen and Mr. Julian Hawthorne; 
a poem called "Geist's Grave," by Matthew Arnold, 
contributed by his daughter; a sketch by Mrs. F. R. 
Jones, and another called "The Moujik," by Mrs. 
Van Rensselaer Cruger, read by Mr. Dougherty; an 
amusing skit by Mr. John Kendrick Bangs; and 
poems by Miss Edith Thomas, George Parsons La- 
throp, and Mrs. Piatt; all this, punctuated by a patter 
of polite applause from a hundred seated guests, and fol- 
lowed by a supper, made the second issue of my gauze- 
winged creature of an hour an occasion both merry and 
memorable. 

The Thursday Evening Club, still in the green after- 
noon of healthy age, met at the houses of different 
members, to each of whom was allowed the privilege 
of selecting the programme of entertainment — these dif- 
fering widely — followed by an hour of talk among the 
guests. To this club have belonged successive gener- 
ations of the more conservative families of New York; 
its waiting list is long, and elected members step 
serenely into place conscious that neither fleeting time 
nor fickle fashion can disturb [their dignified tenure of 
the privilege. 

To enumerate the past and present officers of this 
association would be an interesting chapter, but the 
club is before everything an affair for private enter- 
tainment. Of its many meetings it were hard to single 
those most luminous in memory. From the lordly 
mansions wherein Paderewski played for us, Coquelin 
recited, or Nordica and Schumann-Heink sang adora- 



342 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

biy, we would adjourn to far simpler homes where the 
programme was the outgrowth of native talent and 
ingenuity; where some new discovery in science or ex- 
ploration was given at first hand by the exponent; or 
else some question of civic interest, philanthropy, edu- 
cation, or anything bearing upon the elevation of our 
homes and the social brotherhood was so discussed 
that all who listened might understand and profit. At 
times the club relaxed into simple, unadulterated fun, 
as in the mock trial at Judge Howland's, where Mr. 
Richard Hunt, as counsel for the prosecution, inter- 
rogated the brilliant wife of Dr. William Draper 
(daughter of Mr. Charles A. Dana, of the Sun\ who 
represented Bridget, a scrubwoman, a wimess for the 
defence. "And what, Bridget, was the nature of your 
occupation before you came to work in this office build- 
ing.?" "Please, your honor," came the answer, like a 
flash, "I was takin' care o' Dr. Draper's children." 

This trial brought out further a war of wits between 
Judge Rowland, Mr. Hunt, and my husband, of which 
the details were too local and evanescent to repeat, 
that kept the audience in a roar of irresistible laughter. 

I was interested in the foundation of the Nineteenth 
Century Club by my neighbor, Mr. Courtland Palmer, 
of Gramercy Park, who, in the nebulous days of this 
vigorous undertaking, asked me to serve as a vice-presi- 
dent and also upon the lecture committee of the club, 
which I did for many years. The meetings, first held 
by Mr. and Mrs. Palmer in their own spacious house, 
were to many besides myself a revelation of broad 
thought freely expressed by leading exponents on divers 
sides of questions, theological, scientific, economic, 
musical, artistic, or literary. The fervid soul of the 
president, Mr. Palmer — kept always in check by his 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 343 

courteous deference to the views of his co-workers — 
knew no bounds in his ambition for this club. Upon 
the lecture committee were also Mr. Parke Godwin and 
Mr. D. G. Thompson, I acting as a sort of conservative 
brake when the outline for an evening's discussion, or 
a person proposed by Mr. Palmer whom I believed 
would prove unwelcome to the women of the club, 
caused a threatened undue acceleration of its wheels! 

Many a time the lecture committee meeting consisted 
only of Mr. Palmer and myself, and I can truly say 
that I never met from him aught save the nicest con- 
sideration of good taste as well as the highest interests 
of the club. It was an experiment hitherto untried, to 
bring into drawing-room discussion some of the original 
thinkers he proposed, but the results were signally suc- 
cessful and stimulating. The two secretaries of the 
club during my connection with it were young men 
destined to a large share of the world's observation in 
days to come: Mr. William Travers Jerome, later 
District-Attorney of New York City, and the present 
Attorney-General of the United Stat-es, Hon. George W. 
Wickersham, who succeeded Mr. Jerome. In a recent 
conversation w^ith the Attorney-General, designed to re- 
fresh my memory of those early days of the club, I found 
him quite of my opinion regarding its interest and in- 
tellectual value to the community of New York. As an 
example of its scope, we had a dignified debate upon 
religion sustained between a monsignor of Rome, a 
Jew, a Free-Thinker, a Churchman, and an Unitarian. 
Upon this occasion the Latin prelate asked Rabbi 
Gottheil, who had taken part, why he had not stood 
by him in a certain position attacked by the others. 
**For," he added, ** we are the only ones here who be- 
lieve anything." 



344 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

The appearance before the club of Dr. Oliver Wendell 
Holmes and George W. Cable, representing literature; 
of Theodore Roosevelt and Frederick W. Coudert, dis- 
cussing politics; of John Swinton, embodjang socialism; 
of Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, the brilliant Dr. Mary Put- 
nam Jacobi, and Miss Kate Field; of the Rev. Robert 
Collyer, the stalwart Yorkshireman and well-beloved 
divine; of the Rev. Dr. Heber Newton, Max O'Rell, 
Andrew Carnegie, Felix Adler, Mr. Daniel Greenleaf 
Thompson (subsequently president of the club), and 
many another leader of thought and action in our land, 
upon subjects too varied and numerous to here detail, 
will give some further idea of the nature of the meetings. 
Of the founder I quote an apt description in his funeral 
oration by Robert G. Ingersoll. 

"He was a believer in intellectual hospitahty, in 
the fair exchange of thought, in good mental man- 
ners, in the amenities of the soul, in the chivalry of 
discussion." The motto of the Nineteenth Century 
Club was: "Prove all things. Hold fast to that which 
is good." 

A private house where the addition of a well-equipped 
lecture-room made possible the presence of a large num- 
ber of guests was that of the late Professor Henry M. 
Draper in Madison Avenue, whose widow has, with 
far-reaching liberality, carried on his life work in astro- 
nomical research. 

Here we enjoyed many inspiriting evenings of lecture 
and experiment by inventors and high experts from 
abroad and from all parts of America. The first reve- 
lation, with illustration by experiment, of the unbeliev- 
able marvel of Marconi's wireless telegraphy to a com- 
pany of private persons was there made by the wizard 
young Italian, sending us all home dazzled, bewildered, 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 345 

and still slightly incredulous, to dream of wonders now 
a thing of every day. 

I used to enjoy at second hand the fun of the Uni- 
versity Dining Club (of which my husband was secre- 
tary at the time of his death), for a long time a 
sort of sacred circle of wits and good talkers. Their 
dinners, given from time to time, each under charge 
for the evening of a member, called "The Caterer," 
were held at different clubs, although the University 
was the fountain-head of membership. These ban- 
quets were followed by evenings of merry talk, speeches, 
and what not, when the grave and dignified seniors who 
made up the list became boys again, disporting them- 
selves in the sunshine of mutual friendship. In the 
space of a few short years death swept through its 
ranks with startUng rapidity. The necrology numbered 
such choice spirits as Charles C. Beaman, Frank Ker- 
nochan, Alfred Taylor, Buchanan Winthrop, Frederic 
de Peyster, George Baldwin, and Burton Harrison; also 
the member who stood in loco parentis to the club, 
Mr. Edward Cooper — and, subsequently, Charles Bar- 
ney. Of a joyous group taken upon the veranda of 
Mr. Beaman's summer home in Vermont, where the 
club went upon a winter frolic in 1889, Mr. Frederic 
Stevens and Judge Howland are, I believe, the sole 
survivors. 

By the time old Trinity bells had rung in a score of 
years after our settling in New York all was supremely 
changed. Externally, as in customs, standards, and ob- 
servances, it was a new city. The race for power and 
wealth first began to make itself felt in the break-up of 
visible home life among the friends who of old met in 
cordial informal fashion. Hours moved on, and inex- 
pensive parties became things of the past. 



346 RFXOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

The life of the bread-winner took on the gait that 
has now become the pace that kills. Clever, masterful 
men who set out to win huge fortunes in a decade, to 
juggle with stocks and railways, to develop the common 
necessaries of life in a great continent, to delve under- 
ground for the wealth of fairy tales, enriched themselves 
indeed beyond the dreams of avarice, but at what a cost! 
From morning till night they toiled in their offices, 
going home at night tired of everything, eagerly craving 
rest. 

What they found in these homes is a tale familiar to 
New Yorkers. Households straining every nerve to 
keep up with society; dinners of ceremony abroad or 
at home; evenings at opera or play, dances following; 
the husband and father forced, night after night, into 
attendance at functions from which he would be thank- 
ful to Heaven could he but tear himself away to bury 
his weary head and quivering nerves under cover of 
his couch. 

Some one has called Wall Street the nursery of paral- 
ysis. What is to be said of nights of exhausting enter- 
tainments after days in Wall Street ? No wonder those 
who wander much abroad are continually running upon 
the spectacle of some once famous master of finance 
of our own land, shrivelled and shrunken, in the hands 
of nurses to whom he is but as a child, spending dull 
days in wandering from cure to cure in a manner pitiful 
to look upon. This is the price they are paying for 
making the world wonder at their money-getting. Their 
great houses in their native land remain forsaken and 
shut up, while Europe gives their owners unenthusiastic 
shelter till they are ready to go home and die! 

To this period we may date back the first struggles for 
social prominence among people hitherto unknown in 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 347 

the ranks of society; the craze for travel in every prac- 
ticable part of the world; the overtraining and over- 
indulgence of children; the general unrest. Some of 
those who succeeded in shooting like meteors across the 
social firmament have disappeared entirely. To many 
of the more stable ones have come the disintegration 
of the family circle by divorce and their reconstruction 
under unnatural conditions, so that the uninformed out- 
sider is confused to know how to place, genealogically, 
many of the leaders of to-day in the families whose 
names they bear. 

Rebuilding, repaving New York has brought about 
a more attractive external aspect. Transit is immeas- 
urably better but still behind that of most European 
capitals. Entertainments held in the great new palaces 
of the rich are now the last word in splendor and com- 
pleteness. All over the Eastern shore are scattered 
country houses, shooting lodges, bungalows, inhabited 
islands and reservations, luxurious camps, for the re- 
sort of those who are not otherwise spending months 
abroad, sailing their yachts to all the picturesque ports 
of Europe, or circling the globe with parties of invited 
friends— doing anything, it would seem, to get away 
from the uninteresting extravagance of life in their 
native land. 

When the million-makers first began indulging in 
these vagaries, a larger class of professional and busi- 
ness men of more enlightened type stayed at home with 
their families and went about their daily avocations 
with increased comforts in the methods of so doing, 
increased returns from their work, and vastly increased 
expenses. I think that at the dinners of that period 
we had pleasanter reunions of brighter minds and more 
\ivid personalities than in years subsequent when New 



34^ RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

York had reached her present eminence of material 
prosperity. In my husband's area of professional ac- 
quaintanceship were men whose presence at a dinner 
was sure to make the wheels of thought and talk revolve 
brilhantly. With either Mr. Choate, Mr. James C. 
Carter, Mr. Beaman, Judge Howland, or Judge Patter- 
son in the circle around a friendly board, there was 
always something to key other guests to a high pitch 
of enjoyable expectation and realization. But no one 
could long kick against the pricks of plutocracy. 

Magnificence in entertainments had come to stay. 
New families, new houses, flunkies in plush breeches, 
gold services at dinner, the importation of priceless 
pictures, tapestries, wall panellings, doors, ceilings, 
and furniture from Old-World places, the building of 
sumptuous dwellings, rose to the front and remained 
there. For a few years following this birth of splendor 
in the metropolis private entertainments were a wonder 
to lookers-on. Each hostess strove to outdo the other 
in sensational display. The giving of costly gifts to 
invited guests was begun and overdone. People of the 
old order, of moderate means and hospitable impulses, 
found their invitations superseded by those of the be- 
neficent plutocrats of the new. Their children frankly 
avowed preference for latter-day splendor over the dull 
comfort of the by-gones! Thus the iron entered into 
the souls of those who aspired to feel that their off- 
spring would rise superior to mere show and glitter in 
homes of yesterday, and for this reason, chiefly, many of 
the pleasantest houses of the old regime closed their 
doors and gave up the ghost as leading entertainers. 

What joy it used to be to escape from the ever-in- 
creasing stress and turmoil of our winter home to the 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 349 

sea-girt island of Mount Desert, where we finally built 
a summer residence at Bar Harbor on the shores of 
Frenchman's Bay, after many conferences with our 
architect, that fine artistic spirit, Mr. Arthur Rotch, of 
Boston! I called our picturesque cottage (which went 
on from year to year expanding with our needs) Sea 
LTrchins, partly to justify the avowed intention of teach- 
ing our lads to know and live the water life of the island 

o 

and also because in the spot where Mr. Rotch drove 
the stake for the corner-stone of our dwelling we dis- 
lodged a large cache of sea urchins' shells, left there by 
birds who had flown with them from the shore forty 
feet away. 

We had first visited the tiny fishing hamlet of Bar 
Harbor in 1871, sojourning in the cottage of Captain 
Royal George Higgins, a brave mariner whose corner 
cupboard contained a set of silver presented to him by 
the passengers of a wrecked bark saved by his gallantry. 
Here we had the company of several pleasant "rusti- 
cators," as the summer visitor has always been called 
in the Maine vernacular, chiefly authors, artists, and 
university men, including my husband's former in- 
structors, those Olympians of Yale College, Dr. Por- 
ter and Dr. Woolsey, disporting themselves like school- 
boys in a sparkling atmosphere. I remember a sail 
to one of the islands, carrying our luncheon com- 
pounded by ourselves, when the Rev. " Prexy " Porter 
stretched himself at full length on a bed of white-capped 
moss, and recited poetry in lotos-eating ease. When, 
some years later, we bought our land at the cost of city 
lots, and began building our house, we spent a summer 
in a cottage in Albert Meadow, scantily furnished in- 
deed, but to us and our boys as full of iridescent charm 
as any fairy palace in a soap bubble. 



350 RECOLLFXTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Our first visitors as residents of the island were Sir 
Clements Markham, long president of the Royal Geo- 
graphical Society of London, a connection through the 
English Fairfaxes, who, with his wife, came over for a 
summer journey to America, The guests arrived in the 
teeth of one of the fierce easterly gales that sometimes 
sweep our island, and were, I think, relieved not to find 
us in a fisherman's hut, sitting around a fire of drift- 
wood mending nets, as I had suggested in my letter sent 
to meet them in Boston. That night the little house 
shook in the fury of the storm, but next day dawned 
crystal clear and crisp, the mountain ledges glittered in 
the sun, and the whole world smelt of pine, birch, sweet 
balsam fir, and Atlantic brine. Our manly and de- 
lightful visitor lost no time in inviting our lads to 
accompany him on the ascent of Newport Mountain, 
where he made a map of the island and came down 
knowing more than any of us about everything, except 
the fact that Champlain had discovered if, that Talley- 
rand had come there in a fishing smack (and was by 
many supposed to be a native of the island); and that 
Argall, the pirate, had massacred a band of French 
Jesuit priests at Somes Sound in 1609. 

We drove in a buckboard to Beach Hill, carrying our 
tea basket to the summit of the clifF looking down into 
a sparkling fiord, where some brewed tea while others 
threw their rugs over low-lying mattresses of fragrant 
bush juniper and rested like kings at ease. During the 
week of the Markhams' visit we had consistently glo- 
rious weather for our expeditions far and near. Many 
a time in later days in London has genial Sir Clem- 
ents recalled with me those days of gypsying on the far 
Maine coast. 

When ready to move into Sea Urchins from the 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 351 

village, my carnage failing to come in time, I was con- 
vo3'ed thither by Mr. James G. Blaine, who, with Mrs. 
Blaine, was en route to take possession of their own 
just finished villa, Stanwood, beautifully situated on 
the hill-side just over Sea Urchins. ("If I were so in- 
clined," said Mr. Blaine, "I could sit on my veranda 
and throw potatoes down your kitchen chimney!") I 
have always remembered my installation at my Bar Har- 
bor home, Mr. Blaine stepping to the ground and assist- 
ing me to my door-stone, then, with the charming grace 
of which he was master, making over me a little airy 
invocation to the fates that I might be as happy there 
as I, "who made so many others happy," deserved to 
be. The compliment, however unmerited, was so dain- 
tily achieved, while Mrs. Blaine, one of my boys, and 
the buckboard driver made a smiling audience, that 
I venture to insert it here. 

Mr. Blaine was often our guest thereafter and we 
theirs. He was always a brilliant and sympathetic 
companion, and seemed at his best and happiest at 
Stanwood, surrounded by his clever family in the air 
of his native pines. 

To begin writing about Bar Harbor and the joys it 
has brought into our life, of the interesting and memor- 
able entertainments we gave and received there, and 
the delightful people who yearly drifted to the island, 
is to want not to lay by one's pen. 

Mr. Matthew Arnold, who had promised to come to 
us just before his departure from America in 1886, wrote 
me a note of regret in these terms: 

"Stockbridge, Mass., Aug. 20th, 1886. 
**I have deferred writing because I was really anxious 
to propose coming to you next week, but last night I 



352 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

had again one of those attacks of pain across the chest 
which your too-stimulating cHmate has given to me; 
and as I read in the papers that at Bar Harbor a man 
liable to seasickness is thought intolerable, what would be 
thought there of a man liable to spasms of the chest ? I 
have therefore made up my mind to remain quietly here, 
and to deny myself the very great pleasure of a visit 
to you. We sail for England on the 4th of September, 
and I shall need all my solidity for the passage. But I 
assure you that to fail in my engagement to you is a 
grievous disappointment to me. I only console myself 
by the hope of seeing you before very long on the other 
side of the Atlantic. 

"Believe me, dear Mrs. Burton Harrison, most re- 
spectfully and sincerely yours, 

"Matthew Arnold." 

I had arranged for Mr. Arnold's pleasure, on one of 
the afternoons he was to have spent with us, a water 
pageant of Indian birch-bark canoes, one of the prettiest 
and most characteristic spectacles imaginable, as seen 
from the rock bastion of our lawn over the sea. The 
canoe club duly made its appearance from behind Bar 
Island, went through its manoeuvres, and came in to 
have tea upon the lawn. There was some confusion 
in the announcement that our guest of honor was after 
all not present, and most canoeists went home firmly 
believing they had been seen and admired by the 
famous apostle of sweetness and light, our local news- 
papers duly announcing the great man's presence. 

The Bar Harbor home is still in my possession, 
though less frequently resorted to in days when those 
whose companionship made its charm complete are 
lacking. It is a common thing to hear people nowa- 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 353 

days assert conviction that Bar Harbor, in becoming 
one of the most renowned haunts of fashion in Amer- 
ica, is irremediably spoiled. But certain it is that 
nothing short of an earthquake or a tidal wave demol- 
ishing it can impair its supreme and enduring hold 
over old-time devotees. 

I come now to the time when my zeal for works of 
charity and dramatic diversion was to be turned defi- 
nitely into the channel of professional literary labor. 

Sitting in our pew at Calvary Church during a week- 
day Lenten service, my thoughts went over the social 
conditions then governing New York, and I "planned 
out" a story, subsequently written in a few weeks at 
my home, its plot and characters epitomizing the new 
extravagance of society, which I called "The Anglo- 
maniacs." On my way from service I fell in with our 
good friends Mr. Joseph Gilder and his sister. Miss 
Jeannette Gilder, editors of the Critic, to whom I con- 
fided the inception of my scheme, pledging them to a 
secrecy for many months faithfully observed. Except- 
ing my own household and, later, Mr. Richard Watson 
Gilder, of the Century Magazine, to whom his sister 
succeeded in carrying my manuscript without revealing 
the author's name, no one knew of my connection with 
the novel until it had run as a serial through the mag- 
azine. 

I quote from my journal kept at the time: "By ap- 
pointment, to the Century ofiice to talk with R. W. G. 
about the A. M's. It was all charmingly funny and 
mysterious, that closeting in his sanctum with the 
editor-in-chief; those at the desks outside supposing, no 
doubt, I had come to submit a new Dictionary. The 
orders were that no one should disturb us. Only Mr. 
Drake dropped in, momently, about some important 



354 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

art matter, and Mr. William Carey to read aloud a 
letter from Henry M. Stanley. I was delighted to hear 
that Mr. G. thinks uncommonly well of my story, he 
says he read it first without knowing me in the pages, 
then recognized certain qualities and determined at once 
to begin publishing it in the May Century if possible. 

"Literature is the order of the day at 83 Irving Place. 
F., in the intervals of service at the oar in the Yale 
crew, is writing his essay for the De Forrest prize. 
F. B. H. has on hand a prize composition on the *Sea 
Venture,* and A. came in with a droll face, saying his 
subject for composition this week at Cutler's, was the 
'Mississippi Bubble,' and as he had to find his own 
facts, asking if he should look in the Encyclopedia un- 
der the heading of 'Mississippi' or of 'Bubble.' This 
recalled to B., the Sophomore at Yale who had for 
subject "Is the Baptism of Suffering Necessary to the 
development of a Great Soul .?" and went to the library 
enquiring for all the treatises on Infant Baptism." 

Another entry is as follows: 

"Read the finish of my book, which they had not 
heard, to my Council of Four after dinner in the library, 
all of them luxuriously propped with silken pillows to 
enable them to stand the strain! Poor undefended 
family! 'Rah! Rah! Rah! Mother!' was the verdict 
in a Yale roar that deafened me! Then, they were 
sworn to secrecy. 

"Feb. 26. A hurried and conspirator-like note from 
R. W. G., saying he can work the first of the A. M's 
into the June number, and would I send him my 
final corrected version. As my upstairs servants are 
known at the office, I haled up the little new Irish 
laundress Alice, whom we have dubbed 'The Bog 
Fairy ' and asked her if she knew the way to Union 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 355 

Square. *Oh! yes ma'm, to that Cemetery place where 
you do be sending parcels now and thin!' I despatched 
her with the papers, unblushingly telling her if anyone 
asked who sent them to say she didn't know. She is 
bright enough looking to be taken for a bran new genius 
with MSS. in hand." 

The next entry: 

"Have just seen the drawings in illustration of the 
A. M's. They are done by Charles Dana Gibson, a 
new young artist for whom the Century people and others 
predict a brilliant future. I am simply delighted with 
them. I hear Mr. Gibson says drawing these society 
types has opened a new vein to him which he enjoys 
greatly." 

And lastly: 

"Read the first instalment of the A. M's in the June 
Century, — when F.had finished it, — in the drawing room 
car returning from New Haven to New York. We had 
no end of fun hearing a man and a girl in the chairs 
opposite ours discussing it with fervor." 

During that summer my somewhat embarrassing 
diversion was to hear the story talked over at the lunch- 
eons and dinners at Bar Harbor, and to be frequently 
called upon for an opinion pro or con. I read con- 
stantly in the newspapers of some new author or old one 
to whom it was attributed, generally a man. Letters 
poured in on me through the editors of the Century. 

By the end of its run in the magazine, so many 
claimants had arisen to own themselves responsible for 
the story, that I was hardly surprised, at a large dinner 
in Bar Harbor, to hear a secretary of the German 
legation in Washington, who had just arrived from 
Newport, announce to the company that he was in a 
position to state that the author had at last been dis- 



356 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

covered in the person of a lady then in Newport "whom 
everybody knew." 

" I am positive, because she told me so herself yes- 
terday," he added, turning to me, who sat beside him, 

"Indeed?" I said calmly. "How very interesting!" 

In the end, I wrote to Mr. Joseph Gilder saying he 
might, if he so desired, tell the fact of the authorship in 
the Critic. He, in turn, gave it to Mr. Richard Harding 
Davis, the future novelist, then a young reporter on the 
New York Eventing Sun, which duly proclaimed my 
secret, the Critic endorsing it next morning. 

And so my innocent mystification had run its brief 
course, affording much sport but a few anxious mo- 
ments to the author, who felt all the summer Hke a 
monster of dupHcity. 

When I was sailing across the Atlantic the following 
spring, I had for fellow-passenger, on the Majestic, Mr. 
John Hay, reputed author of the anonymous novel, 
"The Bread-Winners," whose secret was, however, 
never officially disclosed. We had had a wonderfully 
tranquil voyage; as Mr. Hay said, "the sea as smooth 
and monotonous as a poem by Lewis Morris "; but one 
evening, when he had been sitting by my chair on deck 
talking with the genial charm and variety that always 
characterized him, the old Majestic suddenly began a 
series of rather sharp rolls. Mr. Hay undertaking to 
convoy me below in safety, we were caught on the 
companionway by three or four slanting movements 
of the ship, making it impossible for us to do aught 
save stand helpless, hand in hand, clutching with our 
free hands at the rails and swaying absurdly to and 
fro. "What a situation for the authors of the 'Bread- 
Winners' and the 'Anglomaniacs'!" I said to him ten- 
tatively. But the trained diplomat failed to betray 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 357 

himself, responding only by a merry twinkle of the 
eye. 

During my husband's absence on business in London 
in the spring of 1892, I went with my brother, as one 
of a large party of invited guests, by special train to 
the newly built Four Seasons Hotel, at Cumberland 
Gap, in Tennessee, where the directors of a new land 
company and health resort scheme had arranged for us 
a week of sports and entertainments in glorious moun- 
tain air and scenery. About forty congenial persons 
from New York and Washington made up the party, 
the mountaineers and their families along the route 
assembling at stations to see the notabilities among 
them. The chief attraction, strange to say, seemed 
to be Mr. Ward McAllister, who was expected, but did 
not go. At one station Mr. James Brown Potter, en- 
gaged in taking a "constitutional" walk along a cinder 
path while we stopped, was mischievously pointed out 
by Dr. Holbrook Curtis, to a group of gaping natives as 
the famous arbiter of New York fashion. 

"I want ter know!" remarked a butternut-garbed 
horseman in cow-hide boots. "Wal, I've rid fifteen 
miles a-purpus to see that dude McAllister, an' I don't 
begrutch it, not a mite." 

On our way home we stopped in Washington to 
dine with Sir Julian and Lady Pauncefote, who with 
her daughter was of our party, at the British legation. 
Next day, a luncheon was given for me by M. Pierre 
Botkine, of the Russian legation, whose article in defence 
of the Russian Government I had helped him to put into 
English, then introduced it to the editor of the Century 
Magazine. M. de Struve, the Russian minister, Mr. 
Gregor, M. Beckfries, of the Sw^edish legation; Mar- 
quis Imperiali, of the Italian legation; Miss Pauncefote; 



358 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

my two girl friends, Miss Lawrence and Miss Perkins, 
and I, gathered around a table covered with Russian 
embroideries and American roses, for a charming Httle 
feast. We were asked to the White House by the 
President's daughter, a pretty, gracious Httle lady with 
a face like a deep-tinted cameo, who called to invite 
me to hear a singing somebody, who was to perform 
for the President alone. 

Clever Mrs. Barney gave me a large reception, with 
troops of people, in her artistic house; and there were 
theatre-parties, luncheons, dinners for every day. Colo- 
nel John Hay, whose wife was out of town, asked us 
for a cup of tea in his beautiful home on Lafayette 
Square, then all abloom with spring. 

Mrs. Don Cameron, a lovely creature, poured tea in 
Mrs. Hay's absence. Mrs. Cameron's daughters. Miss 
Blaine, Miss Mary Leiter (afterward Lady Curzon), 
Mrs. Cabot Lodge, and a few other women were there. 
The men included Mr. Hay's beloved intimates, Mr. 
Clarence King and Mr. Henry Adams; also Judge 
Davis, Mr. Michael Herbert, of the British legation, 
and Mr. Alan Johnston, ''said to be engaged to our 
pretty neighbor in Gramercy Park, Nettie Pinchot." 
Then Colonel Hay took me off into a corner to show 
me an original MS. of "Maryland, my Maryland!" 
written for him by the author, Randall, and a little 
thrill ran through my veins at the memory of that 
June night at camp at Manassas, when we set it afloat 
on the Army of Northern Virginia, with gray soldiers in 
ambush behind the trees catching up the triumphing 
refrain ! 

To touch upon my early visits to London. I can't 
remember just when I first made acquaintance with 
Thackeray's daughter, Mrs. Richmond Ritchie, now 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 359 

Lady Ritchie, whose father had been my literary idol and 
whose charming cordiality of welcome mingles with the 
pleasantest of my souvenirs. My youngest son and I 
went several times to visit her at Wimbledon, once to 
celebrate Thackeray's birthday, when she showed us 
the original sketches of "The Rose and the Ring," 
with explanatory talk of the way in which that immor- 
tal fairy tale had taken shape in Rome. When she 
hesitated for a name of one of the characters, and my 
boy from the little group of spectators facing her table 
supplied it, she cried out in joyous cadence, "Well 
done, America!" I have a very precious little batch of 
Lady Ritchie's notes and letters. 

Mrs. Walford, whose delightful novels are an inte- 
gral part of the home literature of England, became a 
friend for whom my affectionate regard has continued 
along the path of life. We visited her at Cranbrooke 
Hall, and she came to us in New York with her daughter 
Olive. Her sweet, sunny temper and elastic gayety 
of disposition are reflected in her writings as they illumi- 
nate her home. We saw Mrs. Harrison (Lucas Malet) 
and her sister, Rose Kingsley, who, with her noble father, 
Canon Charles Kingsley, had visited us in New York. 

My husband had crossed the ocean, as a cabinmate 
of Canon Kingsley's, a stimulating mental experience. 
Mr. Kingsley afterward said of his companion that he 
possessed the wholesome vigor of a Western prairie wind. 

I saw Mrs. Craigie (John Oliver Hobbes) often, both 
in London and New York. She had a wonderful per- 
sonal charm and acceptability to her friends, as well as 
the genius that made her a marked woman in her era. 
Mrs. Chandler Moulton was a great favorite in London 
in my time. Mrs. Humphry Ward I met more seldom, 
and Mrs. Atherton I knew both in Bar Harbor and 



36o RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

London. Among the men of mark whom it has been 
my pleasure and privilege to meet in my London visits 
I may cite Lord Morley, Lord Curzon, Mr. Balfour, 
Lord Alverstone, Lord Glenesk, Lord Playfair, Mr. 
Matthew Arnold, Mr. Rudyard Kipling, Sir Gilbert 
Parker, Mr. Edmund Gosse, Mr. Thomas Hardy, Pro- 
fessor Waldstein, Mr. Henry James, M. Paul Blouet 
(Max O'Rell), Sir Edwin Arnold, Mr. "Anthony 
Hope," Sir Clements Markham, Mr. J. W. Cross (hus- 
band of George Eliot), and many another. To men- 
tion the incidents and places of these meetings, and to 
enlarge upon the personalities of those I encountered, 
would require another volume. 

In London I was once one of the sixteen guests of 
honor at a large dinner of the "New Vagabonds" Club, 
over which Sir Arthur Conan Doyle presided. I had 
never known such an experience, and a seat at the 
High Table with the other lions of the menagerie 
frightened me dreadfully. How much more so when, 
at the end of a very graceful little speech by Conan 
Doyle, during which I was wondering who the subject 
of these charming words could be, I heard mention of 
" The Anglomaniacs," then my own name. A sepulchral 
voice behind me whispered, "You are expected to say 
a few words in answer." " But I canty' I whispered 
back in agony. "Then rise and bow to right, left, and 
centre," came the voice, with a note of disapprobation 
at my stupidity. 

This I did, mutely, tremblingly, before an audience 
of hundreds of well-dressed and critical aliens, seated 
at tables in the body of the hall, finally sinking into my 
seat, heartily wishing I had been trained, like the Eng- 
lish women-authors present, to speak a few apt words 
[ '->ublic when need called for them. I wrote home 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 361 

that my only consolation in the trying moment had 
been the fact that I wore a new black satin gown, just 
come home from Madame Amy, with spangles on every 
seam! 

I was consoled after this episode, to receive from Mrs. 
Burnett a note asking me to be present at a dinner at 
the Authors' Club given in her honor, wherein occurs 
this phrase: "It is very complimentary of these distin- 
guished gentlemen, but I would as soon be boiled alive 
as make the few remarks decency will demand I should 
upon the occasion. But as I lived through the speech 
to the New Vagabonds, I may survive this." I find a 
number of sprightly notes from this charming corre- 
spondent, one of them telling me of her retreat to the 
banks of the Thames, to finish the play "A Lady of Qual- 
ity," and urging me, too, to retire to the country before 
London should "kill me with much cherishing," a fate 
I had certainly not her reason to anticipate, although 
the pace was swift, the people I met constantly differing, 
and the engagements delightfully varied. Not a day 
passed without its half-dozen parties and invitations to 
meet those known to the world of art, literature, states- 
manship, and fashion, so blended as to furnish refreshing 
variety. This has always been my experience in Lon- 
don, making it, in my eyes, the one social centre best 
worth while in the world. Neither Paris, Rome, New 
York, nor Washington can vie with it in these respects. 
But as this modest chronicle is chiefly designed to out- 
line the busy and joyous years of my life in the South 
and, later, in the city of my adoption, I must condense 
my theme. 

Alternating with our summers spent at Sea Urchins, 
we and our sons made many journeys abroad, visiting 
together, or in couples, most of the practicable parts of 



362 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

Europe. In London, and in visits to country houses 
and ancient historic homes in England, Ireland, and 
Scotland, I felt, of course, more closely allied to people 
and things than on the Continent; but to the present 
day, including a motor run last summer through Hol- 
land and Belgium and in the Black Forest, my delight 
has been to explore Old-World haunts with congenial 
companions. 

Perhaps the most varied and altogether satisfying of 
all my journeys was a "Loop around Europe" in the 
summer when, with my husband and my son Francis, 
I left England after spending Henley week upon the 
Thames, the junior member of the party crossing from 
Hull to Norway to do some mountaineering among the 
fiords, whilst we proceeded to Calais, and went from 
Brussels via Copenhagen to Christiania, where he re- 
joined us. Our way was as little hackneyed as we 
could make it, our detours in the north countries being 
marked by intentional wanderings from tlie beaten 
paths. From Finland we entered Russia, and in Peters- 
burg fell in, to my surprise, with my brother on his way 
home via the Siberian railway from China, one of 
several similar journeys undertaken by him in the in- 
terests of an American-Chinese syndicate; his object 
in the Russian capital, a semi-diplomatic mission, to 
meet certain high Russian officials in order to adjust 
their combined interests in northern China. Our 
minister at St. Petersburg, Mr. Clifford Breckinridge, 
an old shipmate of Mr. Cary's in the Confederate States 
navy, readily procured for him the necessary audiences 
with Prince LobanofF, then prime-minister and one of 
the foremost statesmen in Europe. 

A month later, when we arrived at Kieff, the Jerusa- 
lem of southern Russia, for a week's visit, during that 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 363 

of their imperial majesties, the newly crowned czar 
and czarina, we met in the station the funeral cortege 
of Prince LobanoflF, who had died on the train while 
coming in to Kieff with the imperial party. 

Here we met the famous Probedenotsof, the head of 
the Russian Synod, to whom was attributed so many 
of the severities of the early part of the present emper- 
or's reign. A cold, cruel face, I thought, my ideal of 
a Spanish inquisitor. Our friend. Prince AndronykofF, 
who brought us together, was amused by my instinctive 
antipathy for the czar's great counsellor. 

We had previously travelled with a different kind of 
churchman, to whom we were especially commended 
— Father John of Kronstadt, the gentle and saintly 
"miracle-worker" of the priesthood — who asked me 
when I left Russia to speak always of the good things I 
had met there, not of the evil, like so many travellers 
and writers. He, certainly, was prominent among the 
subjects permitted me! 

At St. Petersburg I had received the compliment of a 
"passe-partout," given to authors visiting Russia during 
the coronation summer, entitling me to passage by train 
and boat throughout the czar's dominions. Our little 
party was happily augmented by a young lady of 
English birth, who spoke the Russian language like a 
native, whom I was fortunate enough to secure as com- 
rade and interpreter. We travelled — everywhere find- 
ing telegrams sent ahead by authority in St. Petersburg 
to secure our comfort — to Moscow, Nijni-Novgorod, and 
the whole length of the Volga River, visiting Kazan, 
the ancient Tartar city, and other towns along its banks, 
crossing southern Russia, as I have said, to Kieff and 
Odessa, finally traversing the Black Sea on an up-to-date 
Clyde-built steamer, with porcelain bath-tubs and brass 



364 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

bedsteads and a pleasant company in the saloon, the 
meals served with all the dainties of the region. Run- 
ning through the JEgean Sea in glorious weather, we 
reached Constantinople two days after the Armenian 
massacre of that year, when the blood of the victims, 
hastily covered with buckets of whitewash, was still 
sticky in the streets. Two exciting days were spent 
exploring the city in a landau, protected by my son, a 
dragoman, the coachman, and a "cavass," a superbly 
uniformed native soldier lent me by our minister, Mr. 
Terrell, from the American legation. It was thrilling 
to be told that every Turk we met wearing a new hand- 
kerchief tied around his tarboosh had killed his Arme- 
nian; and on all sides hearing stories of recent violence 
and atrocity in the streets through which we passed. 
I had then my first view, in the museum, of the so- 
called sarcophagus of the great Alexander, which has 
always seemed to me the most beautiful marble I have 
seen. 

From Constantinople to Smyrna, Patras, and Athens, 
thence in a filthy Italian ship, by way of the canal of 
Corinth (in which we crashed against the side of the 
chasm and nearly came to grief), to Corfu, Brindisi, 
and Naples, where we took the tiny steamer Ems for 
New York. The worst storm I ever encountered at 
sea was met off the Azores on that voyage home, but we 
arrived safely, none the worse for it. 

Another year I went from New York with my son 
and his young wife in their private car on a journey of 
over nine thousand miles in our own country, visiting 
Mexico, Texas, and California before recrossing the 
continent. 

In 1903 my husband and I made, with a merry young 
party, the circuit of the Mediterranean, visiting Fun- 



RECOLLFXTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 365 

chal, Gibraltar, Algiers, Malta, Athens, Constantino- 
ple, Smyrna, Palestine, and Egypt, spending the spring 
months in Rome, thence returning by Venice and 
Milan to London. In London all our arrangements 
were concluded, through the kindness of friends, for an 
exceptionally good view of the intended pageant of 
King Edward's coronation, when the news of the king's 
illness came like a thunder-clap upon the preparations 
and altered everybody's plans. 

That spring in Italy had but made me lament the 
more the lost chord in my experience occasioned by my 
husband's necessary refusal to accept the post of the first 
ambassador to Italy offered him by President Cleveland. 
The image of what might have been a complete holiday 
for us two busy brain-workers in hard-and-fast New 
York has many a time since arisen temptingly in mind. 

The three winters after my husband's death in 1904 
were spent at beautiful, kindly Cannes, in the French 
Riviera, where nature overflows in blossom and residents 
lavish welcome upon the stranger within their gates. 
The last season was passed amid the palm and rose 
gardens and forests of pine and heather belonging to 
Chateau St. Michel, which my son had leased for his 
little children and myself, from its owner, Lord Glenesk, 
who came there to visit us in the spring, and told many 
interesting stories of the celebrated and historic person- 
ages who had been his guests at the chateau in the life- 
time of his wife and son. The children used to love 
using the donkey-chair provided for the use of Empress 
Eugenie, which we found in the stables and to which 
they annexed a pretty little cream-colored beast, the 
very genius of obstinacy, for the circuit of the spacious 
grounds. I remember one evening when Lord Glenesk 
told of his being asked to go and inform the empress of 



366 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

her son's, the Prince Imperial's, death in Africa, and 
a space of silence that ensued, while tears choked the 
old man's utterance and poured down his cheeks Hke 
rain. Later that spring, after a dinner in his house in 
Piccadilly — Byron's house, of which Lord Glenesk had 
made a museum of pictures, miniatures, objets d'art, 
and literary souvenirs — he showed me several relics of 
his intimacy with the family of Napoleon III as well as 
with other distinguished people. He described a dinner 
once taking place there, when, quite accidentally, there 
came together the three most noteworthy young royalties 
in Europe — Alfonso, King of Spain; Rudolph, Crown 
Prince of Austria; and the Prince Imperial of France 
— all bright, gay, and boyish in their talk, all destined 
to tragic ending of lives full of promise. Amid his faded 
gildings and poignant souvenirs Lord Glenesk moved, 
a sad and solitary figure much troubled by physical 
infirmity, and never ceasing to mourn the loss of his only 
son (Hon. Algernon Borthinck, a charming young man 
who had brought us a letter of introduction to New York 
and dined with us some years previous). 

A most engaging personality was that of Hon. Fred- 
erick Leveson-Gore — "Freddy," as he was lovingly 
called by his intimates, an old man then, but possessed 
of an unfailing spring of sweetness, sympathy, and high 
intelligence that endeared him to all acquaintances. I 
saw him quite often in Cannes before the fatal cold he 
took that ended in pneumonia, and he had brought to 
me one of his books to read, which I returned with a 
note of thanks and appreciation, reaching him in his 
sick-room just at the last. 

Lord Rendel, Gladstone's friend, the owner of lovely 
Chateau Thorenc, was full of recollections of his great 
hero's visits, his habits when there on holidays, and the 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 367 

delightful abundance of his talk among intimate friends. 
He showed me the chair in which Gladstone used to 
sit and look out upon the orange groves and paradise 
of flowers surrounding the chateau, of which words of 
description can give very faint idea. 

A great pleasure was in our drives out to Chateau 
Garibondy, to visit Lady Alfred Paget, oftenest found 
at work amid her gardens on the wild, picturesque 
hill-side looking up into deep gorges filled with forests 
of odorous pine. Here, on one occasion, my son and 
I drove out to meet at luncheon their royal highnesses, 
Comte and Comtesse de Caserta and two of the prin- 
cesses of Bourbon-Sicily, the chief personages of resident 
society in Cannes, to whom I had been indebted for 
kindness and sympathy in a time of great stress and 
sorrow the previous year. Everybody loved and wel- 
comed the gentle and gracious Countess of Caserta, 
whose husband would have been reigning sovereign of 
Naples had not that throne been dashed into nothing- 
ness by Garibaldi's fiery action. I recall this occasion 
particularly because of the informality and gayety of 
the talk at table in the home-like dining-room of the 
quaint little old chateau. 

To H. R. H. Countess Caserta I was beholden for the 
pleasure of an acquaintance, one of the most interesting 
of all those whom I made in Cannes, with that royal 
Lady of Sorrows, Countess de Trani, sister of the ill- 
fated empress of Austria, and mother of the invalid 
princess of Hohenzollern, upon whom she was in 
loving attendance at the Hotel Californie in close 
vicinity to Chateau St. Michel. I suppose no one 
could have had a more dramatic history than hers, one 
fuller of heart-breaking bereavements — and yet she 
was a lesson of noble resignation to the will of God, 



368 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

of heroic cheerfulness to all who came within the radius 
of her presence. A familiar sight in our bowery roads 
on the Californie hill was her tall, swiftly moving figure, 
so strongly resembhng that of the empress of Austria, 
walking beside the invahd chair of Princess Hohenzol- 
lern, whose wit and spirit and vigorous young woman- 
hood were doomed to an early ending in the following 
year. The death of this lady was to close for Countess 
Trani a cruel category of sorrows. The sudden violent 
death of her husband, Count Louis de Trani, the tragic 
breaking of the engagement of her young sister with 
Ludwig, the mad king of Bavaria; the frightful fate 
of the same sister, who, as Duchesse d'Alen^on, was 
burned up in the fire at the Charity Bazar in Paris; the 
execution of her close kinsman, Maximilian, emperor of 
Mexico; the madness of his wife Carlotta; the calamitous 
death of her nephew. Prince Rudolph of Austria, and, 
darkest tragedy of all, the assassination of her beloved 
and radiant sister, the Austrian empress, made up her 
litany of woes, soon to come to a climax in the loss of 
her only child. 

As an escape from the dusty roads of the neighbor- 
hood, we offered to Princess Hohenzollern the use of 
the grounds of St. Michel, where, in walks of bamboo 
or lemon trees meeting overhead, she might be quite 
secluded from invasion. But she often stopped beside 
the children playing in their sand-heap among the pines 
for a friendly chat, or came among us upon the terrace 
blazing with flowers, making, when she felt in the mood 
for it, droll comments and quaint sayings about passing 
matters. 

Countess de Trani lunched and took tea with me at 
St. Michel several times, and we had drives together, 
once to the garden at Cap d'Antibes, where, at the 



RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 369 

suggestion of the lady in waiting, Fraulein Nelly von 
Schmidt, we took tea in a humble little roadside inn 
instead of the stately hotel. We sat in a dingy inner 
room, and watched the peasants coming and going to 
drink their wine at the tables under the vine-clad pergola, 
which, said the kindly Fraulein, "Her Royal Highness 
always enjoys." Another time we visited Mougins, the 
old fifteenth-century walled city on the hill rising from 
the olive groves, where she went in to the little shop to 
buy post-cards with the zeal of an ordinary tourist; and 
again, "on the road to Mandeheu," where, when we 
got out of the carriage to see a new-born lamb and were 
wooed onward to pick white narcissus growing in masses 
in the rich meadow at hand, she walked with as light 
a step as a school-girl, soon acquiring a larger bouquet 
than any of us. 

I dwell upon the memories of this lady because she 
has always seemed to me to realize the noblest type of 
womanhood — brave, serene, submissive, cheerful, yet 
never gay, wearing her inheritance of sorrow like a 
crown. 

Another royal invalid to whom we extended a con- 
tinuance of the freedom of crossing Lord Glenesk's 
grounds was the elder Grand-Duke Michael of Russia, 
since passed away, son of Czar Nicholas I, and patriarch 
of the house of Romanoff, living at the Villa Valetta ad- 
joining ours. He came once with his suite surrounding 
his donkey-chair, which he could not leave, and sent in 
to ask if I would receive his thanks in person, which I 
did, standing on the front driveway for a little talk, on his 
part gentle and courteous, although principally about 
the respective temperatures of our houses, the force of 
the mistral at certain points, etc. His daughter, the 
Grand-Duchess Anastasie, lived in an imposing villa 



370 RECOLLECTIONS, GRAVE AND GAY 

not far off, and there the present crown princess of 
Germany passed her happy and beloved girlhood amid 
the "blue and gold" of Cannes. 

The Grand-Duke Michael of Russia, with his popu- 
lar wife, Countess Torby, and three charming, well-bred 
children, who came sometimes to play with ours, lived 
also near by; and in all these houses there was a per- 
petual va-et-vient of the Russian imperial family, mak- 
ing a page of contemporaneous history rather interest- 
ing to observe and hear about in the gossip of the 
drawing-rooms. 

From Cannes that year I journeyed, with my friend 
Mrs. Stuart Forbes, the owner of Villa Valetta, which 
she had leased to the old Grand-Duke Michael, to Va- 
rese, through north Italy, and around the Italian lakes; 
bringing up finally in London in June, and afterward 
making visits in the north of England and in Scotland. 

The following winter I took up my abode in Wash- 
ington. In our busy world events go on accumulating 
till there seems no way to call a halt in a chronicle like 
this save by laying down the pen, and that I proceed 
to do. 



INDEX 



Abbeville, Burton Harrison sent to, 
225; Mrs. Davis at, 225; storm 
at, 226. 

Academy of Design, the, loan collec- 
tion at, 314. 

Academy of Music, ball at, 284-5; 
rehearsal of Italian opera at, 292 ; 
"The Mistletoe Bough" given at, 
306. 

Ackroyd, Colonel, 270. 

Adami, Mademoiselle, French gov- 
erness at Vaucluse, 24. 

Adams, Henr}', 358. 

Addison, Mr. John, 60. 

Adler, Felix, 344. 

"Alceste," the opera, 254. 

Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, 341. 

Aldridge, Ira, a negro actor, 251. 

Alexandria, town of, 26, 27, 28, 30- 
^^, 107; prisoners of war at, no. 

Alfonso, king of Spain, 366. 

Algiers, 365. 

Allen, Mr. John, 147. 

Altenburg, H. C, letter of, 64-65. 

Alverstone, Lord, 360. 

Ambler, Alan,-, 20. 

American Copyright League, the, 
entertainment given for the bene- 
fit of, 337-8. 

Anderson, Mary, 319. 

— General Joseph, 158. 

Andrews, Mrs. Walter Scott, 329, 

332. 

Andronykoff, Prince, 363. 

"Anglomaniacs, The," a novel by 
Mrs. Harrison, published in the 
Century Magazine, 353, 355-6; il- 
lustrated by Charles Dana Gibson, 

355- 
Annfield, 44. 
"Annie Laurie," 219. 
Antietam, battle of, 93-94. 
"Antiquities of Yorkshire," Thores- 

by's, purchased from B. F. Stev- 



ens, Esq., by Fairfax Harrison, 

35-36. 
"Appomattox," a picture painted by 

John A. Elder, i8i. 
Appomattox, surrender at, 220. 
Arago, the, 244. 

Archaimbaud, M., 245, 254, 256. 
Arden, Edwin, 330. 
Arlington, home of Lee, 2;^, 53. 
Arnold, Sir Edwin, 360. 
— Matthew, 296-7, 360; letter of, to 

Mrs. Burton Harrison, 351-2. 
Art Amateur, the, 314. 
Art Interchange, the, 308. 
Ashby, General Turner, death of, 

87 ; opinion of Jefferson Davis and 

Stonewall Jackson of, 87. 
Ashgrove, 23. 
Astor, Mrs., 278, 280. 
Atherton, Mrs., 359. 
Athens, 365. 

Atlantic Monthly, the, 340. 
Aus der Ohe, Adele, 288, 324. 
Authors' Club, dinner of, 361. 
Avenue de I'lmperatrice, the, soiree 

at, 256. 
Ayers and Wade, Messrs., editors of 

The Southern Illustrated News, 

118. 



B 



Baez, President Bonaventura, nego- 
tiations of, with Grant's commis- 
sion, 299. 

Baillie, Mr. Perce, mentioned in "A 
Little Centennial Lady," 17. 

Baker, Lieutenant A. W., 109. 

Baldwin, George, 345. 

Balfour, Mr., 360. 

Baltimore, 40. 

Baltimore Gazette, the account in, 
265. 

" Bandbox, Major," nickname given 
Major Von Borcke, 130. 

Bangs, John Kendrick, 341. 



371 



372 



INDEX 



Banks, Mr. A. D., 60, 61. 
"Banner of the Jew, The," 313. 
"Baptism of Pocahontas, The," 181. 
Barbour, Colonel A. S., 59. 
Barhamsville, battle of, 162, 
Barker, Dr. Fordyce, 273. 
Barlow, Miss Elsie, 291. 
— Mrs. S. L. M., 291. 
— S. L. M., 306. 
Barnard, President F. A. P., 69; 

F. A. P., President of Columbia, 

306. 
— General, chief of the United States 

Engineer Corps, 201. 
Baronne Brin, 250. 
Barriere de I'Etoile, 247. 
Ba.+holdi, M., 315. 
Bartnoldi Pedestal Fund, the, 313. 
Bartow, Brigadier-General, 47. 
Bassano, Due de, Emperor Napoleon 

Ill's chamberlain, 254. 
Bates, Mr., 224. 
Battine, Captain Cecil, author of 

"Crisis of the Confederacy," 175. 
y Battu, Marie, 254. 

"Battles and Leaders of the Civil 

War" 71. 
Bayne, Colonel T. L., 80. 
Beach Hill, 350. 
Beaman, Charles C, 345, 348 
Beaufort, 74. 
Beauregard, General Pierre Gustave 

Toutant, 47, 49, 51, 54; dinner 

with, 59, 222. 
Beckfries, M., 357. 
Beecher, Rev. Henry Ward, 338-9. 
Belasco, David, 330. 
"Belhaven Tales," stories by Mrs. 

Harrison, published in the Cett- 

tury Magazine, 26. 
Bellevue, 304. 
Belmont, Mrs., 278-279. 
Bel pre, 56; General Fitzhugh Lee 

at, 98. 
Belvoir, 23; pronounced "Beever," 

36. 
Benjamin, Judah P., 129, 160, 222, 

223. 
Bennett, John, 309. 
Bentonville, battle of, 209. 
Bermuda, the Nashville at, 77. 
Bernhardt, Sarah, as Dona Sol and 

as Adrienne Lecouvreur, 319, 323. 
Berrian, Midshipman, 200. 
Berwick-on-Tweed, 259. 



Beverly Ford, death of Major Pel- 
ham at, 65-66. 

Bierne, Miss Betty, 158; Miss Susan, 
158. 

Bigelow, Mr. John, 250, 300. 

Bishop, Mme. Anna, 12. 

Bisland, Miss Elisabeth, meeting of 
Mrs. Harrison with Coquelin at 
home of, 334-5- 

Blackford, Rev. Lancelot, letter of, 

92-93- 
Blackwood' s Magazine, 131. 
Blaine, James G., 351. 
— Miss, 358. 

Blair, ^Ir. Montgomery, 109. 
— Hon. Francis Preston, 243. 
" Bleak House," home of Mr. Upton 

Herbert, 39. 
Blouet, M. Paul (Max O'Reli), 60. 
Bodstein, Madame, 291. 
Bois de Boulogne, 245; skating on, 

251. 
Boiling, Miss, 39. 
Bonaparte, Jerome, 41. 
Bonham, General, 54. 
Boniface, Stella, in "School for 

Scandal," 320-1. 
Booth, Mrs. Agnes, 330. 
— Edwin, 319. '^ 
Booth and Barrett in "Julius Caesar," 

319- 
Booth's Theatre, 319. 
Borcke, Colonel Von, 177. 
Botetourt Springs, visit at, 86. 
Botkine, M. Pierre, luncheon given 

by, to Mrs. Harrison, 357. 
Boucicault, Dion, 320; in the 

"Shaughraun," 321. 
Boulevard Malesherbes, cotillon at, 

259- 

Bourdaloue, engagement of the Har- 
wich off, 35. 

Boyce, Congressman, 53. 

—Colonel W. W., 59. 

Boyesen, Professor, 338, 341. 

Bozenta, Count, 324. 

Braddock, General, 27. 

Brand, Rev. Dr. William Francis, 69. 

Brandon, home of the Harrisons, 
155; shelled by United States gun- 
boats, 264. 

Branham, Longstreet, 252. 

Brazil, the Empress of, 306. 

"Bread-winners, The," 356. 

Breckinridge, General, 178, 222, 



INDEX 



373 



248; Secretan' of War, telegram of, 
to President Davis, 208. 

— Clifford, minister at St. Peters- 
burg, 362. 

Breese, Miss Eloisc, 219. 

"Bric-a-Brac Tales," 313. 

Brignoli, 294. 

Bristoe, sound of battle heard at, 48. 

Bristoe Station, arrival at, 46. 

Brooks, Phillips, 37. 

Brown, Isaac, sexton of Grace 
Church, 275, 316-318. 

— Major R. \V. as " Sir Lucius," 1 76. 

— James, servant of Burton Harri- 
son, 217. 

— Colonel Wilcox, 158. 

— Mrs., III. 

Bryan, Captain Joseph, 179. 

Bryant, William Cullen, 305, 324. 

Br}'ces, the Smith, 252. 

Bryton, Frederick, 330. 

Buchanan, Battery, the, message 
from, to the Chickamauga, 197. 

Buckner, General, 178. 

Budaeus, William, 9. 

Buel, Rev. Hillhouse, 11-12. 

Buena Msta, Jefferson Davis at, 71. 

"Bulbul, Clarence," 8. 

Bullion, Mrs., 296. 

Bullock, Irving, 75. 

Bull Run, 48. 

Bunner, H. C, 338. 

"Burial of Latane, The," a picture 
painted by Captain William Wash- 
ington, 179. 

Burnett, Airs., dinner of Authors' 
Club given to, 361. 

Burr, Aaron, 21. 

Burton, General, 264, 266-7-8. 

Butler, General, 193. 

— Prescott Hall, 332. 

— Mrs. Francis Kemble, 322. 



Cabell, Major Caskie, 179. 

— Evelyn, 156. 

— Miss Lizzie, 159. 

Cable, George W., 344. 

Californie, Hotel, 367. 

Cameron, country home of General 

Cooper, 38. 
— Afrs. Don, 155, 358. 
Campanini at the Acadcmv of Music, 

285-6. 



Campbell. Judge John Archibald, 
154- 

— Miss Mary Ellen, 154. 

— Judge, 216. 

Cannes, Mrs. Harrison at, 365. 

Capoul, M., 256, 292, 293. 

Carabas, the Marquis, 41. 

Carlyle, Mr., visit of John R. Thomp- 
son to, 121-2; "Reminiscences," 
edited by Froude, R. Thompson 
mentioned in, 122-3. 

Carnegie, Andrew, 344. 

Carroll, Professor Charles, 338. 

Carter, James C, 348. 

— Captain Shirley, 179. 

Carter Hall, 44. 

Cary, Archibald, of Carysbrooke, son 
of Wilson Jefferson Cary, 3; wed- 
ding journey of, 8-9. 

— Colonel Archibald, of Ampthill, 
known as "Old Iron," his mar- 
riage to Miss Randolph, 5. 

— Clarence, 9-10; at the battle of 
Manassas, 52; receives commis- 
sion as midshipman, 53; courier 
to General Longstreet, 53; as- 
signed as aid to Secretary Mal- 
lory, 81-82; in charge of money 
taken from New Orleans, 81, 
177; passed midshipman, 189: or- 
dered aboard, 189; diary of, 197- 
200; letter of, to sister, 199-200; 
cheered by both armies at Fort 
Fisher, 201; bursting of gun of, 
206; at Fort Jackson, 81, 167; in 
charge of boat load of deserters, 
80; diar}' of, kept on the cruise 
of the Chickamauga, discovered 
by Commander Parker, 192-3-4; 
meeting with Harvard man at Rio, 
262; ships before the mast in the 
bark CUjlon, 260-1; in New York, 
262; visit to Europe, 362. 

— Miss Constance, letter written to, 
by General \'an Dorn, 61-62; letter 
written to General Van Dorn by, 
62 ; flag presented to Washington 
Artillery, 79; letter of, to mother 
and brother, April 4, 1865, 210- 

215- 

— Captain Wilson Miles, 202, 204. 

— Elizabeth, of Ceelys, 17. 

— Falkland, brother of Mrs. Harri- 
son, 9; mentioned, 30, 40. 

— Hetty, 57; ordered to leave Balti- 



374 



INDEX 



more by the Federal government, 
58; flag sent to General J. E. 
Johnston by, 61, 67, 116, 128, 129, 
141, 160, 174, 177, 190; engage- 
ment of and marriage to General 
Pegram, 201. 

— Jennie, Randall's poem "Mary- 
land" set to music by, 57; flag 
sent by, to General Beauregard, 
61, 67. 

— John Brune, 156. 

— Lucius, Viscount Falkland, 5. 

— Mrs., her letters and essays, 4, 
185, 205, 241, 243; death of, 303-4. 

— Wilson Miles, 57. 

— Mrs. Wilson Miles, 201. 

— Wilson Jefferson, marriage with 
Mrs. Virginia Randolph at Mon- 
ticello, 3. 

"Gary Invincibles," the organiza- 
tion of, 59-60; invited to head- 
quarters dinner, 60. 

Gary Street, 148. 

Gary & Whitridge, law firm of, 199. 

Caserta de Gomte, 367. 

Gaskie, Major Willie, 179. 

Gaux, Marquis de, 323. 

Gavanagh, Gonfederate soldier, 
wounded at Gamp Winder, 184. 

Gayvan, Miss Georgia, as "Lisette " 
in Octave Feuillet's "Portraits of 
the Marquise," 327-8. 

Gedar Mountain, 92. 

Gentennial Exhibition, the Philadel- 
phia, 303. 

Gentral Park, 275. 

Gentreville, Union headquarters at, 
105. 

Century Magazine, the, 64, 220, 340. 

Ghampney, Mrs. J. W., anecdote 
told by, at the Woman's Glub of 
Sorosis, 339. 

Ghamps Elysees, the, 253. 

Ghancellorsville, battle of, 137; de- 
scription of the battle of, in the 
"Grisis of the Gonfederacy," 175. 

Ghapman, Gonrad Wise, 181. 

—Mary, 88. 

—John G., i8i. 

Gharlotte, 225. 

Charlottesville, 40. 

Ghauncey, Henry, 329. 

Ghestney, Major Theodore, 179. 

— Miss Josephine as "Fannie 
Squeers," 173. 



Ghestnut, Mrs., 128; visit of Miss 
Gary to, 148-9, 155. 

— General, letter from, 74, 149, 179. 

Chickamauga, the, G. S. S., attack on 
the Union fleet by, 95, 189, 193; 
cruise of, 194-5-6-7; struck by a 
gale at Fort Fisher, 197. 

Ghilton, Golonel, 72. 

Ghoate, Joseph H., 306, 348. 

Churchman, the, 331. 

Ghurch Musical Association, tiie, 
organization of and rehearsals, 
287; iJrst j)ublic concert given by, 
288. 

Girque de I'lmperatrice, the, 257. 

Civilian, The Cumberland, a news- 
paper edited by Mr. Archibald 
Gary, 7, 12. 

Glarendon Hotel, the, 293. 

Glay, Mrs. Glement, 156; as "Mrs. 
Malaprop," 176. 

— Henry, Mrs. Harrison's meeting 
with, 7. 

Glay ton, Miss Estelle, 330. 

Cleveland, Miss Rose Elizabeth, 332. 

Clifton, 260. 

Glifton House, the Garys and Fair- 
faxes at, 67-68; Burton Harrison 
at, 70, 77. 

Glingman, Hon. Mr., 60, 178. 

Glotilde, Princess, 258. 

Gluny, Musce de, 247. 

Gockburn, Sir Alexander, opinions 

of, 194-5- 
Goffey, Gaptain Edward Lees, 158. 
Goghlan, Rose, 320. 
Gollyer, Rev. Robert, 344. 
Colross, home of Mr. A. P. Mason, 

154- 

Columbia, Union raid on, 74. 

Compeigne, 258, 367. 

"Gonfederate Album," the, 208. 

Constantinople, visit of Mrs. Har- 
rison to, 364-5. 

Conway, Miss Ghampe, 156. 

Cooke, John Esten, 118, 179. 

Cooper Edward, 301, 345. 

— Mrs. Edward, 38, 284. 

— General Samuel, United States Ad- 
jutant-General in Washington, 38, 
154, 222. 

— Peter, 301. 

Copenhagen, 362. 

Coquelin, M., at the Nineteenth 
Century Club, 335. 



INDEX 



375 



Corbin, Gawin, 248. 
— Mr. P'rancis, 248. 
— Richard, letter of, to George 

Washington, 248. 
Corbins, the ancestors of, 248. 
Corinth, 65. 
Cornehus, 68. 
Cortina, ^;^. 

Coudert, Mr., 335-6, 344. 
Coward, Edward Fales, 332. 
Craigie, Mrs. (John Oliver Hobbes), 

359- 
Cranbrooke Hall, home of Mrs. 

Walford, 359. 
Crane, Walter, illustrator, 313. 
Craven, Miss, 329. 
"Crescent and the Cross," the, 307. 
Crescent, the New Orleans, tribute to 

Miss Hetty Cary in, 58-59. 
Creve-Coeur, Mme. la Marquise de, 

68. 
"Crisis of the Confederacy," the, 

175- 
"Critic, The," performance of, 321. 
Critic, The, magazine, 340, 356. 
Cross, Mr. J. W., 273, 360. 
Cruger, Mrs. \'an Rensselaer, 341. 
Culpeper Court House, 49; Mrs. 

Harrison's mother at, 55, 77, 99. 
Cumberland, town of, 7, 13. 
Curtis, Dr. Holbrook, 357. 
— George William, 306, 338. 
Curtis Hotel, 322. 
Curzon, Lord, 360. 
Custer, Mrs., 308. 
Custis, Mr. George Washington 

Parke, "The Old Man Eloquent," 

Cutts, Mrs. Richard, 25. 



"Dahlian God, Ye," 31. 

Daingerfield, Miss Mary, no. 

d'.-Menfon, Duchesse, 368. 

Daly, Augustin, 321. 

Daly's Theatre, 321. 

Dana, Charles A.., 306. 

Daniel, Captain Travers, 179. 

— Miss Frances, 156. 

— John M., editor of the Richmond 

Examiner, 119. 
Danville, 208. 
d'Arblay, Madame, 32. 
Davenport, 320. 



Davidson, Mrs., 12. 

Davis, Jefferson, 61; inauguration 
of, 68-69; in Richmond, 71-73; at 
Mechanicsville, 72, 73, 74, i2(), 
137, 223; an.xiety for his wife, 224; 
speech made by, to General Basil 
Duke's command, 224; receives 
news of Lincoln's assassination, 
224; capture of, by Federal troops, 
226-8; release and trial of, 263-8. 

— Mrs. Jefferson, at the inaugura- 
tion of Jefferson Davis, 70, 126; 
reception of, 127; at capture of 
Jefferson Davis, 129, 202, 221, 
227, 268, 269. 

— "Joe," death of, 181-2. 

— Hon. George, Attorney-General in 
Jefferson Davis's cabinet, 165, 
222, 267. 

—Judge, 358. 

— Richard Harding, 356. 

— Monimia, 165. 

— Winnie, 269. 

Dawson, Captain Frank, 179. 

—Mrs., 155. 

Deane, Miss Adeline, marriage of, 79. 

— Dr., reception at house of, 79. 

Deas, Colonel George, 178. 

de Janon, Mile., 301. 

de Kay, Mr. Charles, 158. 

Delaware, Fort, 240-2; imprison- 
ment of Burton Harrison at, 243. 

de Leon, Mr. Cooper, 130. 

de Lespinasse, Mile. Julie, 159. 

de Lille et d'Albion, Hotel, 245. 

Delmonico's, dinner at, 315-7. 

Denegre, Captain Joseph, 135, 167, 
170, 174. 

Depew, Mr. Chauncey, 290. 

de Peyster, Frederic, 345. 

"Diner des Rois," 247. 

Dix, General, 244, 251; governor, 

305- 

Doane, Monsignor, 310. 

Dobbin, Mr. Robert, 146, 174; as 
coachman, 177. 

Dodge, Colonel Harrison, 36. 

Dolomites, the, ^2- 

"Don Giovanni," 61. 

Dougherty, Mr., 341. 

Douglas, Colonel Henrj* Kyd, 179; 
letter of, describing imprisonment 
of Burton Harrison at Fort Dela- 
ware, 240. 

— Mrs. Stephen A., 25. 



376 



INDEX 



Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan, 360. 

Drake, A. W., 315. 

—Mrs., 333-4. 

Draper, Dr. William, 342. 

— Mrs. William, 342. 

— Professor Henry M., 344. 

" Dream of the Thursday Evening 
Club of the Future," the, 340. 

Drew, John, 321, 334. 

Drinkwater, Mrs., routing of the of- 
ficers of the Chickamauga by, 197. 

Drur)''s Bluff, 82. 

Dubois, M., 282-3. 

Dufferin, Lord, 284. 

Dumfries, 54. 

Duquesne, Fort, 20. 

Dyas, Miss Ada, 330. 



E 

Eastport, 54. 

Edwards in "School for Scandal," 
320. 

Eggleston, Dr., 338. 

Egypt, 365. 

Eliot, George, 32. 

Elkton's Landing, 162. 

Ellerson's Mill, 72. 

"Elsie Venner," 170. 

Elzey, General, 137, 178. 

Emmet, Miss Rosina, 312. 

Emperor, the. Napoleon III, 255. 

Ems, the, steamer, 364. 

Eshleman, Captain B. F., flag sent 
to the Washington Artillery at re- 
quest of, 78. 

Essipoff, 288. 

Ephemeron, The, table of contents 
of, 340; repeated before the 
Thursday Evening Club, 340-1. 

Eugenie, Empress, 251. 

Evening Sun, New York, the, 356. 

Examiner, the. Miss Gary's poem 
accepted by, 119. 

Exposition Universelle, review of 
troops in honor of, 262-3. 

Eyre, Gerald, in "School for Scan- 
dal," 320. 

Ezekiel, Chevalier Moses, work of, 
180. 



Fairfax, Albert, 15. 

— .\nne, marriage with Lawrence 



Wasliinglon, first mistress of 

Mount Vernon, 35. 
—Brian, 35. 
— Dr., 67; lossof fortune of, 85, 165, 

219. 
— Ethelbert, 209. 
— George, his friendship with George 

Washington, 35. 
— Henry, of Ashgrove, 15. 
— Hannah, marriage to Warner 

Washington, 35. 
— Jennie, 67. 

— Lieutenant Donald, U. S. N., 76. 
— Lord, title confirmed by the House 

of Lords in 1908, 36; his inscrip- 
tion in the Visitors' Book at Bel- 

voir, 36. 
— Lord, of Greenway Court, his 

visits at Belvoir House, on the Po- 
tomac, 34. 
— Lord, ninth Baron of Cameron, 7; 

goes to England to take possession 

of an inheritance, 19-20. 
— Monimia, wife of Archibald Cary 

and youngest daughter of Lord 

Fairfax, 7, 8. 
— Mr. and Mrs. George William, 20. 
— Orlando, 15. 
— Randolph, 30; mentioned in letter 

of Rev. Lancelot Blackford, 92-93 ; 

death of, at Fredericksburg, 95-96. 
— Reginald, 15; death of , 84. 
— Sally, diary of, published in Scrih- 

ner's Magazine, July, 1876, 17. 
— Sarah, of Belvoir, invited to dine 

with Mr. and Mrs. Washington, 20. 
— Thomas, killed on the Harwich, 

35- 
— Colonel William, of Belvoir, 20. 
Fairfax Court House, the, 30, 52, 54. 
"Fare Fac," motto of the Fairfax 

family, 36. 
Faubourg St. Germain, Teresa at, 

253- 
Fauquier White Sulphur Springs, 87. 
Fearn, Mr. Walker, 296. 
— Mrs. Walker, 244. 
Feast of Candles, the, 255. 
Fechter, 320. 

Federal Government, the, 166. 
Ferguson, Captain "Wragge," 179. 
Feuillet, Octave, letter from, to Mrs. 

Harrison, 328. 
Field, Mr. David Dudley, 221, 274, 

300. 



INDEX 



377 



Field, Mr. Cyrus, 300. 

— Rev. Henry M., dinner at home 
of, 221. 

— Miss Kate, 344. 

Fifth Avenue Theatre, the, 319. 

Fish, Mrs. Hamilton, 278, 280. 

Fisher, Colonel, 53. 

Fisher, Fort, 193. 

Fiske, Mrs., 326-7. 

Fitzhugh, Mrs., of Ravensworth, 39. 

Flint stone, 12. 

Florence, 284. 

"Folk and Fairy Tales," 313. 

I^orbes, Mr., as "Uncle Toby," 173. 

Four Seasons Hotel, the, 356. 

Fourteenth Street Theatre, the, 320. 

France et Choiseul, the Hotel, 269. 

Fraser, Captain James, 179. 

"Frayser's Farm," battle of, 132. 

Fredericksburg, battle of, 95. 

Freeland, Miss Maria, 176. 

Freeman, Max, 330. 

Freemantle, Lieutenant-Colonel, au- 
thor of "Three Months in the 
Southern States," 133. 

Frostburg, 12. 

Fullerton, ex- Judge, 244. 



G 



Gallifet, Marquise de, 258. 
Gait, Alexander, 181. 
Garibaldi, 161. 
Garibondy, Chateau, 367. 
Garvarni, duet with, 256. 
Gautier's, 24. 
Gilmer, General, 209. 
Gerard, Air. James W., 300. 
Gerster, Madame Etelka, 294. 
Gettysburg, battle of, 141. 
Gibraltar, 365. 
Gibson, Dr. Charles Bell, home 

of, 159. 
— Charles Dana, 355. 
—Mary, 159. 
—Mrs., 159. 
Gilbert in "School for Scandal," 

320. 
Gilder, Miss Jeannette, 353. 
—Joseph, 356. 
— Richard Watson, letter from, 220, 

341; visit of Mrs. Harrison to 

office of, 353. 
Gildersleeve, Captain Basil, 178. 



Giles, Miss Lizzie Peyton, 156; as 
"Penitent," 173. 

"Glendale," battle of, 132. 

Glenesk, Lord, 360; dinner given by, 
365-6. 

Glenn, Wilkins, 265. 

Godwin, Mr. Parke, 251, 324-5; 
member of lecture committee of 
Nineteenth Century Club, 343. 

"Golden Rod," 303. 

Gordon, General, 178. 

Gosse, Edmund, 360. 

"Gotterdammerung," the, 297. 

Gottheil, Rabbi, 343. 

Grace Church, 317. 

Gracie, General, 178. 

Gramercy Park, 251; home of the 
Harrisons at, 300. 

Grand Hotel, dinner given to Mr. 
Bigelow at, 251. 

Greensboro, conference at, 222. 

Green way Court, 35. 

Gregor, Mr., 357. 

Gregory, Miss Alice, 39. 

Grenfell, Mme., school of, 244. 

Gulager, Mrs., 290-1. 

Gunnell, Harr}', 17. 

Gunston Hall, home of George 
Mason, 38. 

Gwin, ex-Senator, and Mrs., of Cali- 
fornia, 250; ball at home of, 253-4. 

Gymnase Theatre, the, 246. 

H 

Hall, Emily D., the, captured by the 
Chickamaiiga, 196. 

Hamilton, William G., 300. 

Hampton, Preston, 129; death of, 
162-3. 

— Lieutenant Wade, 162. 

Hardiman, "Tony," 242. 

Hardy, Thomas, 360. 

Harlem Kills, the, 41. 

Harper's Weekly, 68, 303. 

Harrison, Burton, 57; private secre- 
tary to Jefferson Davis, 69; receipt 
of a package of paper from, 117-8; 
149, 182, 202, 203, 205; letter of 
Miss Car}' to, 217-8, 220; joins 
Jefferson Davis at Danville, 221; 
escort of, with Jefferson Davis, 
225; description of Davis's cap- 
ture by, 226; as prisoner of war, 
228-237; mentioned in letter of 



INDEX 



Colonel Henry Kyd Douglas, 241; 
visit of Miss Gary to, in prison, 
243; release of, from Fort Dela- 
ware, 243-4, 252; two letters of, 
describing release and trial of 
Jefferson Davis, 263-8; marriage 
of, to Miss Gary, 271, 299; kind- 
ness to ex-Confederate soldiers, 
301-2; secretary and counsel of 
the Rapid Transit Company, 302; 
counsel for the Western Union 
Telegraph Company and New 
York Telephone Company, 302, 
342; secretary of University Din- 
ing Club, 345; refusal of, to accept 
appointment as ambassador to 
Italy, 365. 

—Belle, 264. 

— Mrs. George, nee Gordon, 155, 264. 

— Francis Burton, 4, 299-300. 

— Fairfax, present owner of Belvoir, 
in Fauquier County, Virginia, 35. 

— Mrs. Samuel, 217. 

Hartington, Marquis of, 132. 

Hartranft, General, 236. 

Harvey Birch, the, sunk by the 
Nashville, 75. 

Harwich, the, British man-of-war, 
sunk by the French, 35. 

Hatcher's Run, battle of, 160. 

Haven, Mr. George, 295. 

Havre, 244. 

Hawthorne, Julian, 338, 341. 

Haxall, Mr. Barton, 158. 

—Charlotte, 158. 

— Miss Harriet, 158. 

— Miss Lucy, 158. 

— Captain Philip, 158. 

Hay, John, 356; tea given to Mrs. 
Harrison by, 358. 

Hayes, Brigadier-General, 105; mes- 
sage sent by, to General Ewell, 
iio-i. 

Hayne, Paul H., 118. 

Hearn, Lafcadio, 334. 

Herbert, Arthur, of Muckross, 39. 

— Margaret, grandmother of Mrs. 
Harrison, 19, 20. 

— Mr. Upton, 39. 

— Michael, 358. 

— Nancy, meeting with Aaron Burr, 
21 ; carried in chair by U. S. soldiers 
from her home at Vaucluse, 32. 

Herndon, Miss, as the "Widow 
Wadman," 173. 



"Heroine, The," 60. 

Hewitt, Abram,30i. 

— Marie, 244. 

— Mrs., 244. 

Higgins, Captain Royal George, 

349- 

Hincks, Mrs. Pemberton, 334. 

"History of the American People," 
219. 

Hohenzollern, Princess, 368. 

Holly Springs, 65. 

Hollywood, 84; burial of Confed- 
erates at, 188. 

Holmes, General, 54. 

— Oliver Wendell, 309, 344. 

Holt, Judge Advocate-General, 229. 

Hood, General, 162, 172-3, 177. 

Hooe, Lieutenant, 59. 

— Mrs. Philip, no. 

Hope, James Barron, 118. 

— Anthony, 360. 

Howe, Julia Ward, 344. 

Howell, Miss, 70, 227, 268; sister of 
Mrs. Jefferson Davis, 128. 

— Midshipman Jeiferson Davis, 179. 

— "Jeff," a brother of Mrs. Jeffer- 
son Davis, 262. 

Howells, William Dean, 338. 

Rowland, Judge, 342, 345, 348. 

Hunt, Mr. Richard, 342. 

Hunter, General, 87. 

— Mr., 17. 

Hurst, Mr., 17. 

Husted Act, the, 302. 

Hyde, Mrs., leaves Vaucluse to go to 
the front as a nurse, 32, 97, 114; 
at Camp Winder as nurse, 182, 
215. 

— Meta, 22i, 44, 216. 

— Reginald, 82. 



"Ideas de Mme. Aubray, Les," 
246. 

Imperial, the Prince, 255; death of, 
366. 

Imperiali, Marquis, 357. 

Indian Chief, the. Confederate re- 
ceiving ship, mutiny on, 95. 

IngersoU, Miss Justine, 327. 

— Robert G., 344. 

Invalides, the, 247. 

Irving, Henry, as "Matthias" in 
"The Bells," 320, 336. 



INDEX <aXa.vJ- 



379 



Irwin, Mrs., Mrs. Harrison's visits 

to, 25-26, 42, 108. 
Irwinsville, Mrs. Davis found by 

Jefferson Davis at, 226. 
luka, 65. 

J 
Jackson, Stonewall, 89; death of, 

138-141. 
" Jackson's Way, Stonewall," lyric, 

138-140. 
Jacobi, Dr. Mary Putnam, 344. 
James, Henry, 360. 
Jefferson, Thomas, 3. 
— Martha, 3. 
Jenkins, General, 178. 
Jerningham, Sir Hubert, 259. 
Jerome, William Travers, 343. 
Jerrold, Mrs. Blanchard, 256. 
Joachim, 304. 
Johns, Bishop, 37. 
Johnson, President, 243. 
— Bartlett S., letter of, to Clarence 

Cary, 198-9. 
Johnston, Alan, 358. 
— Colonel Preston, 178,225; capture 

of, with Jefferson Davis, 226. 
— General Albert Sydney, 24, 178; 

relieved of his cominand by Lee, 

192. 
— General Edward, 178. 
— Mrs. Joseph E., 154. 
— General J. E., 222. 
Jones, Mrs. F. R., 341. 
Joseffy, 288. 



Kellogg, Clara Louise, 324. 
Kenah, Miss Jane, school of, 11. 
Kernochan, Frank, 345. 
Kieff, 362. 
King, Clarence, 358. 
Kingsley, Rose, 359. 
— Canon Charles, 359. 
King William County, 141-2; ob- 
servations of colored folk of, 142-5. 
Kipling, Rudyard, 360. 
"Knighthood," 172-3. 
Kronstadt, Father John, of, 363. 



La Basse Motte, home of General de 

la Charette, 163. 



"Lady of Quality, A," 361. 
Lamar, Congressman L. Q. C, 69, 

160, 202, 252. 
Lane, Miss Harriet, at Mount Ver- 
non, 34. 
Lathrop, George Parsons, 337, 341. 
Laughton, Mrs. Macalester, 332. 
Lavvley, Hon. Francis, 132. 
Lawrence, Miss, 358. 
Lawton, General, 178, 209. 
Lay, Mrs., 154. 
Lazarus, Miss Emma, 313. 
Lee, Anne Carter, 91. 
— General Custis, 40, 178, 203. 
— Daniel Murray, 155, 198. 
— Mrs. Fitzhugh, 153. 
— General Fitzhugh, at President 

Cleveland's inauguration, 99, loi; 

ride from Belpre, 99, 174, 177. 
— Miss Mary Custis, 3;^, 153. 
— Mildred, faces two angry dogs at 

Cortina, ^;^. 
— Robert E., 25; his family, ^^, 72-, 

gratitude of the South toward, 89; 

letter of, to the father of Randolph 

Fairfax, 96-97; visit of, to Miss 

Cary, 127; ladies of his family, 

153; statue of, 180. 
—Mrs. R. E., 153. 
— Private R. E., son of General R. 

E. Lee, meeting with his father at 

Sharpsburg, 90-91; visit of, at 

Belvoir House, 91. 
— Admiral Sidney Smith, brother of 

General R. E. Lee, 38, 89, 155, 198. 
— Mrs. S. S., 155. 
— General William Henry Fitzhugh, 

39. 178. 
Leeds Castle, home of Charles Wyke- 

ham Martin, 269 ; visit at, 269-270. 
Lefebvre, Mr. Hubert Pierre, 41. 
Lefebvre's School, 158. 
Leiter, Mrs., 332. 
— Miss Mary, 358. 
Leland, Charles Godfrey, 126. 
Lemon, Mark, 256. 
Lenox, summer at, 309-310. 
Leotard, 257. 
Letcher, Governor, 137. 
Letellier, Mme., sister of Alexandre 

Dumas, 246. 
Leveson-Gore, Frederick, 366. 
Lemoyne, Mrs., 324, 334. 
— William J., 330. 
Life, 298. 



38o 



INDEX 



Lincoln, Abraham, Mrs. Harrison's 

meeting with, 43, 219. 
— "Tad," 219. 
Lincoln, Albion, the, captured by the 

Chickamauga, 196. 
Linden Row, gatherings at Mrs. Pe- 

gram's house at, 160. 
Lipscomb, Mr., 49. 
"Little Centennial Lady, A," title of 

diary of Sally Fairfax, published 

\n Scribner' s M agazine, July, 1876, 

extracts from, 17-19, 303. 
Lobanoff, Prince, 363. 
Lochiel Hotel, meeting of Burton 

Harrison and General Hartranft 

at, 237. 
Lodge, Mrs. Cabot, 358. 
London Illustrated News, the, 132, 

^33- 
London, Mrs. Harrison's visit to, 358. 
London Times, the, 132. 
Long Bridge, 24. 
Longchamps, 254. 
Longridge Towers, home of Sir 

Hubert Jerningham, 259. 
Longstreet, General, 47; wounded, 

182. 
"Loop Around Europe," the, 362. 
Lubbock, Colonel Frank R., 178, 225. 
Lyceum Theatre, 327. 

M 

Madeleine, the, Christmas mass at, 
247. 

Madison, Mrs. Dolly, 53. 

Madison Square Theatre, play for 
charity at, 330; "Authors' Read- 
ings" at, 337-340. 

"Magic Flute," the, opera, 256. 

Magnolia Weekly, the, 118. 

Majestic, the, 356. 

Malet, Lucas, 359. 

Mallory, Rev. Dr., 327, 331. 

— Marshall, 330. 

— Secretary, 81, 126. 

— Mr., 222. 

Maker, 365. 

Manassas Junction, 44; battle of, 
52; information received from 
Mrs. Greenow enabling Confed- 
erates to win battle of, 53-54; 
Mrs. Harrison's visit to, after the 
battle, 56; guns captured by the 
Washington Artillery at, 79. 



Mann, Colonel Dudley, 248; letter 

of, to President Davis, 249-250. 
Manning, Governor, 60, 179. 
Mansfield, Richard, in "A Parisian 

Romance," 320; as "Richard 

HI," 321. 
Mansion House, the, Alexandria, 28- 

29. 
Marbeuf, the Avenue, 252. 
Marie, Galli, 256. 
Markliam, Sir Clements, 350, 360. 
Marks, Montague, editor of the Art 

Amateur, 314. 
Marnas, Count de, 254. 
Martin, Mr. de Saint, 222. 
— Charles Wykeham, 269. 
Martindale, Brigadier-General, 108. 
Martinsburg, 54. 
"Maryland, My," sung by Miss 

Jennie Cary, 57-58, 60. 
Mason, Miss Emily, 38. 
— George, father of Mrs. General 

Cooper, 38. 
— Arthur Pendleton, 154. 
— Major Robert, 100. 
— Ethelbert, 216. 
— Alexander, 329. 
Mathilde, Princess, 258. 
Maurin, Major Victor, 225. 
Maximilian, Emperor, 368. 
May, Rev. Dr., 37. 
McAllister, Ward, 277, 357. 
McCabe, Captain Gordon, 179; let- 
ter written by, 204. 
McCarty, Captain Page, 179. 
McCosh, Dr., 310. 
McCullough, General, 178. 
McDowell, General, 54. 
"McGillicuddy, Irene," 291. 
McGuire, Mrs. Judith Brocken- 

borough, mention of Vaucluse in 

diary of, 45. 
McGuires, the, of Howard, 38. 
McHenry, James Howard, 269. 
McLean, Colonel and Mrs., 156. 
McMurdo, Miss Saidee, 68. 
McMurdos, the party at home of, 68. 
Meade, Bishop, 178. 
— General, 146. 

Mechanicsville, battle of, 88-89. 
Mehlig, Mme. Anna, 288, 290. 
Memminger, Mr., reception-room of, 

190. 
Mendelssohn Glee Club, concert 

given by, 295. 



INDEX 



381 



Menken, Adah Isaacs, 246. 

Mercedita, the, U. S. S., battle with 
the Palmello State and Chicka- 
mauga, 95. 

Metropohtan Opera House, the, 295; 
first season of, 298. 

Metternich, Princess, 253; at the- 
atricals given at Compeigne, 258. 

"Mignon," the, opera, 256. 

"Mikado," the, opera, 319. 

Miles, Hon. William Porcher, 158. 

Millwood, 44, 46. 

Minnegerode, Dr., 138, 203, 215, 267. 

Miranda, Countess, Christine Nils- 
son, as, 257. 

Mississippi, the, Confederate iron- 
clad, 80. 

"Mistletoe Bough, The," 306. 

Mitchel, Mr. John, 119. 

Mobile, 81. 

Modjeska, Mme., 319, 324. 

Monroe, Fortress, imprisonment of 
Jefferson Davis at, 228. 

Montague, Harry, in "Romeo and 
Juliet," 319. 

Monte Carlo, 257. 

Monticello, marriage of Wilson Jef- 
ferson Cary and Miss Virginia 
Randolph at, 3. 

Montsaulnin, Countess de, 244. 

Monumental, the old service at, 215. 

Moore, Tom, 41. 

Moorings, the, 44. 

Morgan, General, 178. 

— Midshipman James Morris, 179. 

— Colonel James Morris, letter of, 
to Mrs. Plarrison, 199, 262. 

— Governor, 305. 

Morley, Lord, 360. 

Morphy, Mr., 136. 

Morris, Mrs. Gouverneur, letter to, 
from Archibald Cary, 5. 

— Gouverneur, 40. 

— Anne Cary, 269. 

— Clara, in "A Parisian Romance," 
320. 

Morrisania, the home of Gouver- 
neur Morris, 40-41; Miss Gary's 
visit to, 239-240; Clarence Cary 
at, 262, 275. 

Moscow, 363. 

Molt Haven, 275. 

Moulton, ^[rs. Chandler, 359. 

Mount Vernon, visit of the Prince of 
Wales to, 34; dining-room at, 36. 



Mount Vernon Aid Society, the, or- 
ganization of, 305-8. 
Muckross, home of Arthur Herbert, 

39- 

Munford, Lieutenant-Colonel Wil- 
liam, 59, 179. 

— Colonel George, 161. 

— Ellis, death of, at Malvern Hill, 
161. 

Myers, Mrs., 155-6, 250. 

— General A. S., 155-6. 

— Captain William, 157. 

N 

Naples, 364. 

Napoleon, Prince, 258. 

Nashville, the, convoy of Mason and 
Slidell, 74-75; escapes from the 
blockading squadron off Fort 
Macon, 77, 179, 249. 

Nation, the, 303. 

Nebuchadnezzar, Uncle, 167-9. 

Neilson, Adelaide, in "Romeo and 
Juhet," 319. 

Newbury, 5. 

"New Colossus, The," 313-4. 

Newport Mountain, 350. 

News, the Illustrated London, 26. 

Newton, Rev. Dr. Heber, 344. 

"New Vagabonds" Club, the, din- 
ner at, 360-1. 

New York Hotel, the, Jefferson 
Davis at, 268. 

New York society in the seventies, 
270, 273, 286. 

Nicholas, Mary Spear, 264. 

Nijni-Novgorod, 363. 

Nilsson, Christine, as the "Queen of 
Night" in the "Magic Flute," 
256, 292-3, 324. 

Nineteenth Century Club, the, 335; 
organization of, 342-4; death of 
founder of mentioned, 344. 

Norris, Dr. Herbert, 238, 242. 

— Mrs., 238. 



O 



O'Conor, Mr. Charles, 244; attorney 
at trial of Jefferson Davis, 265-6, 
298. 

Ogden, Mr. R. D'Orsey, 216. 

"Old- Fashioned Fairy Book," the, 
312. 



;82 



INDEX 



Oliphant, Laurence, 291, 297. 

Oliver, Robert, 310. 

Opera Comique, the, 256. 

Orange and Alexandria Railroad, 
the, 46, 105. 

O'Reilly, John Boyle, 338. 

Osborne, Mrs., 304. 

Ould, Miss Mattie, 159. 

— General Robert, 159. 

Owen, Captain William Miller, 
author of "In Camp and Battle 
with the Washington Artillery," 

Oxford University, Mississippi, 69. 



Packard, Rev. Dr., 37. 

Page, Mr. William, 17. 

— Miss Molly, mentioned in "A Lit- 
tle Centennial Lady," 17. 

— Captain Legh, 179. 

— S. D., 244. 

Pagerie, Duchesse Tascher de la, 
258. 

Paget, Lady Alfred, 367. 

Palestine, 365. 

Palmer, 138. 

— Cortland, 301, 342-3. 

Palmer's Theatre, 320. 

Palmerston, Lord, visit to the Nash- 
ville, 75. 

Palmetto State, the. Confederate 
iron-clad, attacked by Union fleet, 

95- 
Pamunkey fever, 190. 
Pamunkey Swamps, the, 190. 
Pantheon, the, 56. 
Paris, winter at, 245; exposition of, 

269. 
Parker, Sir Gilbert, 360. 
— Lieutenant-Commander James, 

U. S. N., 193. 
Parkman, Mrs., 158. 
Parsons, John E., 298. 
Pasdeloup's orchestra, 257. 
Patrick Henry, the, school-ship, 

116. 
Patterson, General, 54. 
—Judge, 348. 

Patti, Adelina, at Marseilles, 252, 323. 
Paul, Mattie, 157. 
Pauncefote, Sir Julian, 357. 
—Miss, 357. 



—Lady, 357. 

Pea Ridge, 65. 

Pech, Dr., 287. 

Peck, General, U. S. A., 212. 

Pegram, Captain Robert, 74, 75, 
249. 

— William, 160. 

— Mrs., 160. 

— Colonel William, death of, 205. 

— General John, 160; marriage of, to 
Hetty Cary, 201; death of, 204-5. 

— Jennie, 157. 

Pelham, Major, 65, 66. 

"Pen," dramatis personae, 173. 

Perkins, Miss, 358. 

Petrovitch, "Dieu-Donne," 253; at 
the state ball, 258. 

Peyton, Colonel, 202. 

Philharmonic orchestra, the, French 
musician in, 304-5. 

Philharmonic Society, the concerts 
of, 294-5. 

Phillips, Miss Adelaide, 290, 294. 

Piatt, Mrs., 341. 

Pickens, Camp, life at, 47, in. 

Pierrepont, Miss, 280. 

Pinchot, Miss Nettie, 358. 

Plantagenet, Byron, Viscount Falk- 
land, 5. 

Playfair, Lord, 360. 

"Pocahontas, Baptism of. The," a 
picture painted by Chapman, 8. 

Podestad, Ella, Marquise de, 88. 

Polignac, Prince Camille de, 131, 
248. 

Polk, Miss Antoinette, 163; ride of, 
to warn relatives at Ashwood Hall, 
164. 

Ponisi, Mme., in "School for Scan- 
dal," 320. 

Ponte, da, Captain Durant, 61; de- 
scription of arrival of flag at Van 
Dorn's head-quarters by, 63. 

Porte Maillot, the, 245. 

Porter, Admiral, 193. 

— General Horace, 335. 

—Dr., 349. 

"Portfolio," Mrs. Harrison's, 314. 

Potter, Clarkson, 274. 

—Henry, 37. 

— Bishop, 340. 

— James Brown, 357. 

— Mrs. James Brown, 329, 332. 

Potter, Mark L., the, captured by the 
Chickamauga, 196. 



INDEX 



3^3 



Pratt, Mrs., 250. 

Preston, General John S., family of, 

154- 
— Miss Sally, 178. 
— Miss Mary, 172. 
Price, Professor Thomas R., 130. 
Pritrhard, Colonel, 226. 
Probedenotsijf, 363. 
Prjor, General Roger A., 178. 
Punch, 75, 256. 

R 

Radcliffe, Mrs., 67. 

Randolph, Anne, 41. 

— General George, Confederate Sec- 
retary of War, 79, 176. 

— Mrs., wife of Confederate Secre- 
tary of War, 79, 172; entertain- 
ment given by, 172-8. 

— Isham, 3. 

— Innis, 179. 

— Jane, mother of Jefferson, 3. 

— John, of Roanoke, 5. 

— Mr. John, as " Sir .■\nthony," 176. 

— Thomas Mann, ^ 

— Miss Virginia, 3. 

Rappahannock, the, 113. 

Rappahannock Station, 112. 

Ravensworth, 39. 

Reade, Miss Mary, 5. 

Reagan, Mr., 222, 225. 

"Rebel," the war horse ridden by 
the colonel of the Washington 
Artillery at Malvern Hill, 79. 

" Recollections of a Confederate 
Staff Officer," 163. 

Redlands, 216. 

Reed, Lieutenant, 81. 

— Mr., attorney at trial of Jefferson 
Davis, 266. 

"Refugitta," a mare loaned to Miss 
Gary by General Lee, 100, 125. 

Rehan, Miss, 321. 

Reid, Whitelaw, 306. 

Rendel, Lord, 366. 

'■ Retreat, The," Christmas at, 167-9; 
house parly at, 189-190. 

Revue des Deux Mondes, the, 274. 

"Richmond Scenes in '62," 71. 

Richmond, spring in, 77. 

Rigolboche, 253. 

Ringgold, George, 319. 

Ristori, Adelaide, as "Marie Stuart" 
and as "Marie Antoinette," 320. 



Ritchie, Miss Jenny, 267. 

— Mrs. Richmond, 358-9. 

— Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt, 322-3. 

Rives, Mr. Alfred, 68. 

— Amelie, 86. 

Robert, Jefferson Davis's negro ser- 
vant, 225. 

Robinson, Mrs., as "Light of the 
Harem" in "Tent," 173. 

— Captain Henrj', 158. 

— Captain John Moncure, 156, 248. 

— Leigh, 40. 

— Russell, 156. 

Roby, Lieutenant, 199-200. 

Roman, Mr. Philip, 13. 

Ronalds, Mrs., 291. 

Ronconi, duet with, 289-290; lessons 
given by, 288-290. 

Roosevelt, Colonel, 76, 344. 

— Mrs. Theodore, 278-9; ball given 
by, 279. 

— Mr. Hilborne, 292. 

— Mr., uncle of Colonel Roosevelt, 
292. 

Ropes, John Codman, 93. 

Ross, Dr. George, 179. 

Rotch, Arthur, 349. 

Rousseau, tomb of, 56. 

"Rowens, Mrs. Manila," 171. 

Rubenstein, 288. 

Rudolph, Crown Prince of Austria, 
366, 368. 

Rue Lord Byron, the, 154, 250. 

Ruggles, Samuel B., 300, 306. 

"Russian Honeymoon, A," produc- 
tion of, 330-2; production of, at 
the Madison Square Theatre, at 
Brooklyn, and at Washington, 332. 

Rutherford, Mrs. Lewis Morris, 278, 
280, 291. 

— Stuyvesant, 280. 



Saint Bernard Pass, Grand, 269. 
Saint Chapelle, the, 247. 
Saint Martin, Mr. Jules de, 79-80. 
Salle des Marechaux, the, their 

Majesties at, 258. 
Salle I'Ath^nee, concert at the, 257. 
Salvini, 285-6; as "Samson," 321, 
Samana Bay Company, the, 299. 
Samuels, Captain Samuel B., 299. 
Sandford, Mr. William, 17. 



3^4 



INDEX 



Saratoga, 44. 

Saturday Review, the, estimate of 

Ronconi in, 289. 
Saunders, Colonel John S., 158, 174. 
Schermerhorn, Mr. Edmund, 291, 

292. 
— The Misses, 291. 
Schoeff, General, 241. 
Schuyler, Mr., 305. 
— Eugene, 244, 275. 
Scott, Sir Walter, 97. 
— General, 53. 

Scribner's Magazine, 240, 303. 
Scribner's Sons, Charles, 308. 
Seal, John, 17. 
Sea Urchins, home of the Harrisons 

at Bar Harbor, 350. 
Seddon, Mr., Secretary of War, 138. 
Sedgwick Hall, 310. 
Sefton, Mr., 320. 
Seligman, Joseph, 302. 
Seminary, Theological, services at, 

36-37- 
Semmes, Admiral, blowing up of 

Richmond arsenal by, 211. 
— Mrs., entertainment at house of, 

128-130. 
Seven Pines, guns captured by the 

Washington Artillery at, 79 ; battle 

of, 82-83, 84, 88. 
Seventeenth Virginia, the, 48. 
Shannon, Captain Samuel, 179. 
Sharpsburg, 90. 
Sheppard, William L., 180. 
Sherburne, John P., 108. 
Sherman, General, 192 ; return of, to 

Washington, 229. 
Shooting Star, the, captured by the 

Chickamauga, 196. 
"Short Comedies," the, criticism of, 

329. 
Simonet, Monsieur, 274. 
Sims, Carrie, 250. 
— Florence, 250. 
— Dr. and Mrs. Marion, 250. 
Skinner, Colonel Frederick, 179. 
Slaughter, Rev. Dr. Philip, 8-9. 
"Sleeping Beauty, The," 307. 
Sleepy Hollow, 99. 
Slidell, Miss, 76. 
Smith, Lieutenant Clark, 109. 
— F. Hopkinson, as director of the 

Academy of Design, 314, 338. 
— General Kirby, 225. 
Smyrna, 364-5. 



Society of Associated Artists, the, 
308. 

Society of Decorative Art, the, 
308-9. 

"Somnambula," rehearsal of, at the 
Academy, 292-3. 

Sorrel, General Moxley, 32, 47, 53, 
162. 

Soule, Pierre, 160. 

Source, La, 252. 

Southern Illustrated News, the, 118. 

Sparrow, Dr., 37. 

"Spofford & Tileston," private sig- 
nal flag of, used by the Nashville 
in running the blockade, 77. 

Spotswood, the, Jefferson Davis at, 
during his trial, 267. 

Spotswood Hotel, Mr. and Mrs. 
Davis at, 264. 

Spottsylvania Court House, battle of, 
182. 

Springs, Berkeley, 14. 

Stanard, Mr., 147. 

— Mrs. Robert, 159-160. 

St. Ann's, marriage of Burton Harri- 
son and Miss Cary at, 271-3. 

Star of the West, the, C. S. S., 8r. 

"Star-Spangled Banner, The," 219. 

"Starvation Club, The," 150-2. 

Steinway Hall, entertainment of the 
Church Musical Association at, 
287-8. 

Stephens, Mr. Alexander H., 160. 

Sterrett, Captain, 57-58. 

Stevens, Frederic, 345. 

Stewart, T. Scott, 299. 

Stickney, Mr., 298. 

St. John, General, 209. 

St. Maur, Lord Edward, 13 1-2. 

St. Michel, Chateau, 365. 

St. Nicholas, 340. 

Stockbridge, Mass., 221. 

Stockton, Frank, 338, 341. 

Stoddard, Mrs. Elizabeth, 123. 

— Henr}', 123. 

Stoneman, General, raid of, 137. 

Storey, Mrs. Moorfield, 25. 

"Story of the Civil War, The," ex- 
tract quoted from, 93. 

Stowe, Mrs. Harriet Beecher, visit 
to Stockbridge, 221. 

St. Paul's Church, wedding of Hetty 
Cary and General Pegram, 201- 
3; funeral services of General 
Pegram at, 203; sermon at, 207. 



INDEX 



385 



St. Petersburg, visit of Mrs. Har- 
rison to, 363. 

Strong, George Templeton, President 
of the Church Musical Associa- 
tion, 287, 300. 

Struve, M. de., 357. 

Stuart, General J. E. B., 129, 174; 
death of, 175; description of, in 
the "Crisis of the Confederacy," 

175-6. 

Sullivan, Captain Clement, flag pre- 
sented to General Van Dorn's 
division returned by, 65. 

— Mrs. Algernon Sydney, 305. 

Suresnes, 254. 

Surratt, Miss, 229. 

— Mrs., 236. 

Suydam, Lydig, "Portfolio" sold to, 

315- 
Suzanne, 282. 
Swanson, Mrs., 79. 
"Sweet Lavender," the Jilay, 321. 
Sykes, Sir Tatton, 284. 
Syniington, Captain Stuart, 179. 



Talleyrand, 41. 

Tansill, Colonel, 198. 

Taylor, Alfred, 345. 

Tearle in "School for Scandal," 320. 

Teresa, 252. 

Terrell, Mr., Minister to Turkey, 364. 

Terr}-, Major, 53. 

— Ellen, anecdotes of, 324-6. 

Thalberg, 288. 

Theatre, Lyrique, 256. 

— Franjais, 257. 

Thomas, Theodore, 294. 

— Miss Edith, 341. 

Thompson, Mr. John R., 68, 118; 
visit of, to Carlyle, and diary, 
120-4; editor of New York Even- 
ing Post, 123, 172, 213. 

— Mrs., 243. 

— D. G., president of Nineteenth 
Century Club, 343, 344. 

Thorburn, Colonel, 225. 

Thorenc, Chateau, home of Lord 
Rendel, 366. 

Thome, Mm., 251. 

Thursday Evening Club, the, meet- 
ing of, at Mrs. C. \''anderbilt's, 
333-4; meeting of, 340-2; mock 



trial at home of Judge Howland, 
342. 

Thurston, Mrs., 12; entertainment 
at home of, 13. 

Tilden, Samuel J., 301, 305. 

Timrod, Harry, 118. 

Todd, Provost-Marshal, 108, 109. 

Tostee in "La Belle Heiene," 320. 

Tourville, Count Henri de, dinner 
given by, at Delmonico's, 318-9. 

Towlston, 17, 23. 

Trani, Countess de, 367-8. 

— Count Louis de, 368. 

Treasury Department, signing bank- 
notes in, 190. 

Trenholm, Frank, 262. 

— Secretary, 179. 

Trent, the, arrival of, at Southamp- 
ton, 76. 

Triplett, Mary, 158. 

Tucker, ISIr., 129. 

— Randolph, Attorney-General of 
Virginia, 164. 

— Lee, 167, 170-1; as "Jack Abso- 
lute," 176. 

Tuileries Chapel, the mid-day mass 
at, 254. 

Tuileries Garden, the, 256; ball at 
the, 257-260. 

Turner, Mr. Sumpter, 79. 

— Major Thomas, iii. 

— -Miss Bierne, 158. 

Tuscarora, the, U. S. S., eluded by 
the Nashville, id-'j']. 

Twiggs, General, 155. 

Tybee, the, 299. 



U 



"Uncle Tom's Cabin," 42. 

Underwood, Judge, 265. 

Union League Theatre, the, "Frog 
Opera" given at, 306. 

Union Mills, the drive to, 105-6; re- 
turn to, from Alexandria, no. 

Union Square Theatre, the, 320. 

University Dining Club, the, 345. 



V 



Valentine, Mr. Edward, sculptor, 

180. 
\'alori. Marquise de, 250. 
Van Cott, Mr., 29S. 



386 



INDEX 



Vanderbilt, Mrs. Cornelius, 305, 

329- 

— Cornelius, 329. 

Van Dorn, General Earl, flag sent by 
Mrs. Harrison to, 61; death of, 
mentioned, 65. 

Vaucluse, home of the Fairfaxes, 
stories of, 13-14; establishment 
at, 21, 22, 23; slaves freed at, 22; 
Fairfax portraits at, 23 ; tea parties 
to the clergy and theological stu- 
dents at, 37, 44; silver buried at, 

44-45. 154- 
Vicksburg, 81. 

Ville au Bois, La, 155, 245, 247. 
Vincent, Leon John, 307. 
Vineyard, home of Mr. Conway 

Robinson, 40. 
Vinton, Rev. Dr. Francis, 302. 
Virginia, the, 189. 
"Virginia Mourning Her Dead," 

180. 
Vizitelly, Frank, 132-3. 
Von Borcke, Colonel Heros, 129, 130, 

131, 135- 
Von Inten, Mr., 290. 
Voss, Emily, 83. 

W 

Waldstein, Professor, 360. 

Walford, Mrs., 359. 

Wallack, Lester, 320. 

Wallack's Theatre, 320. 

Wall Street, "The Nursery of Pa- 
ralysis," 345. 

Walter, Father, 234. 

Walton, Major, 223. 

Ward, Major, as "Nicholas Nickle- 
by," 174; as "Bob Acres," 177. 

— Miss, 307. 

— Mrs. Humphry, 359. 

Warner, Charles Dudley, 338. 

Warwick, Colonel Bradfute, i6i; 
death of, at Gaines's Mill, 162. 

Washington Artillery, the, march 
through Richmond, 78; at the 
batde of Malvern Hill, 78-79. 

Washington, Lawrence, 35. 

— Captain William, 179-180. 

— George, 248. 

Watterson, Henry, 4. 

Weitzel, Governor, 216. 

Werner, Mr., 290. 



West and Johnson, 213. 

Western Metropolis, the, voyage on, 

270. 
Wheeler, Mrs. Candace, 308. 
Whig, 4, 239. 
Whig, Evening, the, 216. 
White, President Andrew, 221. 
Whitehurst's, daguerreotypes taken 

at, 24. 
Whiting, Major-General, report of, 

197-8. 
Whitney, William C, 158, 164, 295. 
— General, 200. 

Whitridge, Mrs. Frederick, 296. 
Wickersham, Hon. George W., 343. 
Wilderness, the, battle of, 182. 
Wilkinson, Captain, 198. 
Willis, Mr. and Mrs. N. P., visit of 

Mrs. Harrison's mother to, 8. 
Willoughby, Lady Cherubina de, 60. 
Wilson, Miss, 24. 
Wilson, Professor Woodrow, 219. 
Wimbledon, 359. 
Winder, Camp, Miss Cary as nurse 

at, 182-9; Mrs. Harrison's mother 

at, 55- 
Winder, General, 137. 
Winthrop, Buchanan, 345. 
Wise, Barton Haxall, 158. 
— Brigadier-General Henry A., 158, 
■ 181. 

— Mrs. Henry A., Jr., 158. 
— Captain John Sargent, 179. 
Wolfe, General, 35. 
Wolseley, Colonel Garnet, estimate 

of Lee, 132. 
"Woman's Handiwork in Modern 

Homes," 308. 
Wood, Colonel John Taylor, 178, 

222, 225. 
Woolsey, Dr., 349. 
World, the, 265. 



Yale College, 57. 

Yellow Tavern, the battle of, 175; 

death of Stuart at, 182. 
Young, General P. M. B., 178. 



Zborowski, Mr. Martin, 244. 



31^77-1 



